
DICKENS’S 
TALE OF 
TWO CITIES 


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Charles Dickens 

At the beginning of his literary career. From the 
portrait by his friend Maclise. Courtesy 
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DICKENS’S 

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Of TWO CITIES 1 

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' SCHOOL, SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA ' 

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With Decorations by 

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[• 9 . 







HEATH’S GOLDEN KEY SERIES 

The following titles, among many others, are available 

or in preparation: 

POETRY 

Arnold’s sohrab and rustum and other poems 
browning’s shorter poems 
french’s recent poetry 

GUINDON AND O’KEEFE’S JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL 
POETRY 

milton’s shorter poems 
scott’s lady of the lake 
tennyson’s idylls of the king 

FICTION 

cooper’s LAST OF THE MOHICANS 
ELIOT’S SILAS MARNER 
ELIOT’S MILL ON THE FLOSS 

hawthorne’s house of the seven gables 

TALES FROM HAWTHORNE 

dickens’s tale of two cities ( entire) 

dickens’s tale of two cities {edited for rapid reading) 

scott’s ivanhoe 

SCOTT’S QUENTIN DURWARD 

WILLIAMS AND LIEBER’s PANORAMA OF THE SHORT 
STORY 

OTHER TITLES 

ADDISON AND STEELE’S SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
PAPERS 

boswell’s life of Johnson ( selections) 
burke’s on conciliation 

PHILLIPS AND GEISLER’s GLIMPSES INTO THE WORLD 
©F SCIENCE 

lowell’s a certain condescension and democracy 
{with other essays on international good and bad will) 
macaulay’s Johnson 

FRENCH AND GODKIN’s OLD TESTAMENT NARRATIVES 

Shakespeare’s julius caesar 
Shakespeare’s midsummer night’s dream 

Copyright, 1929 

By D. C. Heath and Company 

2 e 9 

Printed in the United States of America 




This Edition of 
A Tale of Two Cities 
Is A fectionately Dedicated to 

MY STUDENTS 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE 

W HEN I was acting, with my children and friends, in 
Mr. Wilkie Collins’s drama of The Frozen 
Deep, I first conceived the main idea of this story. A strong 
desire was upon me then, to embody it in my own person, 
and I traced out in my fancy, the state of mind of which it 
would necessitate the presentation to an observant spectator, 
with particular care and interest. 

As the idea became familiar to me, it gradually shaped 
itself into its present form. Throughout its execution, it has 
had complete possession of me; I have so far verified what 
is done and suffered in these pages, as that I have certainly 
done and suffered it all myself. 

Whenever any reference (however slight) is made here to 
the condition of the French people. before or during the 
Revolution, it is truly made on the faith of trustworthy wit¬ 
nesses. It has been one of my hopes to add something to the 
popular and picturesque means of understanding that terri¬ 
ble time, though no one can hope to add anything to the 
philosophy of Mr. Carlyle’s wonderful book. 

Charles Dickens 


vi 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The French Revolution .ix 

Life of Charles Dickens .xxxi 

Book One. Recalled to Life . 1 

Book Two. The Golden Thread .52 

Book Three, The Track of a Storm . . . 233 

Questions and Lesson Helps.368 


vii 







ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Portrait of Charles Dickens. Frontispiece 

“ I mark this cross of blood upon him.”. 9 

In the gloomy tile-paved entry.39 

The village had its one poor street.109 

Sallow faces had seen other faces within.159 

Gloomy vaults where light of day had never shone . . 205 

The Hotel de Ville. .213 

It was the dark and dirty comer of a small winding street 265 

The Carmagnole.269 

Mr. Jerry Cruncher’s name duly embellished the door¬ 
post below.281 

In the Black Prison of the Conciergerie.333 

By the great cathedral door . . . between the two towers 355 
In crossing the bridge, she dropped the key in the river 361 







INTRODUCTION 

The French Revolution 

A REVOLUTION is a struggle by which a people try to 
overthrow the existing government and to substitute 
another in its place. This change may be accomplished with¬ 
out bloo'dshed, but usually a revolution is never successful 
without terrible battles. The people must be thoroughly 
unhappy, of course, before they try to change their govern¬ 
ment in such a manner. The opposition always comes from 
the privileged classes in high positions, who refuse to give 
up their advantages, and these are the ones against whom 
a revolution is generally directed. The French had reason 
to be discontented with their government and had good 
cause to risk a change by force. 

In the first place, the people of France differed greatly 
from province to province, with different laws, customs, 
and manners. King Louis XIV had conquered the province 
of Alsace, the city of Strasbourg, and some towns on the 
borders of the Spanish Netherlands. Louis XV had added 
Lorraine, and the island of Corsica had been ceded to 
France. It required a good king and a strong government 
to weld all these provinces into one. But Louis XV was a 
very bad king, dissolute, selfish, and cruel. He let his 
favorites help themselves not only to the money in the 
treasury of France but also to all kinds of special privileges 
and powers. During his reign France lost Canada and her 
interests in India. From the beginning of his reign, 1715, 
conditions in France became worse and worse, financially, 
politically, and socially. It must be understood, however, 
that Louis XIV, as well as Louis XV, with all his costly 
wars, his tremendous extravagance, and the luxurious man- 


IX 


X INTRODUCTION 

ner in which he lived at Versailles, had a great deal to do 
with the oppression of the poor people. 

In 1774, when Louis XVI, grandson of Louis XV, came 
to the throne, he was king of anything but a united and 
unified land. The annexed districts still had their own cus¬ 
toms and often their own laws, though all paid taxes to the 
king. When a merchant passed from one province to an¬ 
other, he had to pay large and annoying customs duties, as 
if he were traveling from one foreign country to another. 
The central districts about Paris were separated from the 
others as if from a foreign land. These duties and taxes, 
too, differed from district to district; and there were also 
differences in the taxes which the government levied on dif¬ 
ferent provinces. Such, for example, was the tax on salt. 
The central government controlled all the salt consumed, 
but it sold at various prices in various provinces. 

Class differences also caused bitterness. The nobles and 
clergy were called the two privileged classes, the Two Es¬ 
tates. They paid no taxes. The common people were called 
the Third Estate. They paid all the taxes. The Church 
had great power, having charge of all education and the 
relief of the sick and the poor, and it owned one-fifth of all 
the land in France. Since the Revocation of the Edict of 
Nantes in 1685, 1 in the time of Louis XIV, no Protestant 
could be legally married, have the births of his children re¬ 
corded, or make a legal will. A great part of the enormous 
income of the Church went to the higher clergy — the arch¬ 
bishops, bishops, and abbots. These were appointed by the 
king and lived like great lords with immense incomes. The 
real religious work was done by the lower clergy, and done 
well, though they were very poor. 

Nobles, though their powers varied somewhat in different 
sections, always had certain great powers. Part of every 
crop came to the noble who controlled the land where the 
peasant lived. The peasant also paid toll on cattle or sheep 
driven by the door of the nobleman. Sometimes the lord 

i Be sure to read that enjoyable novel by Conan Doyle, The Refu¬ 
gees, describing this event. 


THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 


xi 


owned the only mill, the wine press, and the oven where the 
peasants baked their bread. Even when a peasant owned 
his land, the neighboring lord had the right to exact one- 
fifth of its value every time it was sold. Privileges of hunt¬ 
ing belonged to the lord, and he often laid waste great tracts 
for game preserves. Sometimes this game, rabbits or deer, 
made the peasant’s farming much more difficult, but he was 
forbidden to interfere. Many of the manors had great pigeon 
houses, built in the form of towers, in which there were often 
two thousand nests. These pigeons flocked over the newly 
sown fields and ate the seed; but no one must object, and the 
peasant was not allowed to have tame birds of his own. His 
taxes alone were almost unendurable without these addi¬ 
tional hardships. 

The sufferings of the poor people had long been noted, 
and thoughtful men had begun to print articles about injus¬ 
tice in the world and the rights of the people. Stimulated 
by the writings of Voltaire, Diderot, and Montesquieu, 
many reformers began to write popular works, poems, plays, 
and articles. They sometimes treated the government, the 
clergy, and religion with such contempt that the govern¬ 
ment tried to suppress their books. The authors were often 
imprisoned and the publishers fined. This effort of the gov¬ 
ernment to prohibit freedom of speech was another 
hardship. 

The stories of the American Revolution had a great deal 
to do with making the French people think about their 
tremendous burden of taxation, especially since they had 
nothing to do with making their own laws. The pension 
system also made them indignant, for by this arrangement 
the king paid huge sums of money to nobles for no reason 
at all. Many reformers tried to remedy the condition of the 
poor people, but nothing could be done until the two priv¬ 
ileged classes would agree to give up their special privileges, 
which, of course, they never intended to do. 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION 


The Wrongs of the People 

Louis XVI succeeded his grandfather when he was only 
twenty years old. He was poorly educated, inactive, rather 
dull, unsociable, very fond of hunting and working in a 
workshop, not at all the man of the hour. Although well- 
meaning, with none of the vices of his grandfather, he w T as 
not capable. His wife was the beautiful Marie Antoinette, 
daughter of Maria Theresa, queen of Austria. She was only 
nineteen when she became wife of the dauphin of France, 
light-hearted, disliking the formality of court life, and often 
shocking the people by her gaiety. The king wanted to help 
the people and at first tried very hard to do so. At the head 
of finances he placed Turgot, who tried to bring about 
economy, especially at the court of Versailles. The luxu¬ 
rious living there cost about twelve million dollars a year. 
He also tried to abolish the pension system, which cost an¬ 
other twelve million dollars a year. Then he tried to reduce 
the restrictions on the grain trade, allowing the people to 
buy and to sell where they pleased; to abolish guilds, which 
had too much power over trades and industries; and to let 
any one practice any trade he wished. Turgot also tried to 
abolish forced labor on the roads and to tax the land of all 
landholders, both nobles and clergy. The nobles and clergy 
made such a protest against all these laws that Turgot was 
abruptly dismissed by the king, 1776, but his administration 
advanced the cause of the people and helped to bring about 
the Revolution. 

Other ministers followed Turgot in swift succession, but 
the nobles and clergy refused to accept the only solution for 
the problem of discontent — to share the burdens of 
taxation. The government was carried on by the king and 
his council at court and by parlements, about twelve in all, 
scattered through the provinces, with the most important 
one at Paris. These parlements tried lawsuits and regis¬ 
tered any new laws. Sometimes they sent protests to the 
king instead of registering the laws; sometimes their pro¬ 
tests were printed and sold on the streets at a penny a copy. 


THE WRONGS OF THE PEOPLE 


xiii 

The king could command obedience, but just before the 
Revolution the parlements began to say that a law enforced 
in this way was not legal. When bankruptcy threatened, 
the parlements refused to consent to further loans. 

In 1787 the Parlement of Paris refused to register two 
new laws of the king’s and insisted that a meeting should be 
called of the Estates General, which combined all three 
estates. There had not been such a meeting since 1614, 
nearly two hundred years before. Even when these meet¬ 
ings were held, the Third Estate had little power, as the 
nobles and clergy each had a vote apiece and the commons, 
though outnumbering the others by far, had only one vote 
to the two of the others. Suddenly the Parlement of Paris 
heard that the king’s ministers were going to try to take 
away the right of parlement to register the king’s decrees, 
and consequently parlement’s right to protest. 

When the king’s commissioners tried to proclaim the 
edicts which abolished the right of the parlements to register 
laws, there were riots and anger everywhere. Since the 
treasury was empty, however, the king’s ministers decided 
that there must be a meeting of the Estates General, that is, 
a full council at Paris with all three estates represented. 

When the delegates met at Versailles in 1789, the com¬ 
mons refused to vote separately as had always been the 
custom, because thereby the nobles and clergy, with two 
votes, could always defeat the commons, who, though far 
more numerous, had only one vote. 

On June 17 the Third Estate declared itself a national 
assembly, since it represented at least ninety-six per cent 
of the people. Three days later the commons, burning with 
indignation, had been unable to meet in their old hall be¬ 
cause preparations were going on for a full session of the 
three estates at which the king was to speak. There had 
been a number of similar delays to postpone the meeting. 
So the commons met in a tennis court. They took a solemn 
oath that they would never separate until they had estab¬ 
lished a constitution. This was the famous Oath of the 
Tennis Court. 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


For some time the people had been clamoring for their 
rights, and now they began to demand them: 

(1) The right of the nation to grant all taxes voluntarily 
through the Estates General. (2) The right of the annexed 
provinces to keep all liberties promised when annexed, and 
the right of each parlement in these provinces to examine 
each edict of the king and refuse to register it if it violated 
any rights. (3) The right of the judges to retain their 
offices, no matter how anxious the king might be to dismiss 
them. (4) The right of every citizen, if arrested, to be 
brought immediately before a competent court and to be 
tried only by the regular judges. 

This latter was to do away with one terrible practice of 
the king, who could give lettres de cachet to members of the 
two privileged classes. These were sealed warrants for 
arrest and imprisonment of any one, secretly, without any 
accusation and without any trial, for any length of time. 

The king, urged on by the queen, his brother, and the 
court party, got up his courage to resist. At a full meeting 
of the Three Estates he made promise of reform, then com L 
manded the estates to meet separately. The nobles and 
clergy followed him as he withdrew, but the commons sat 
still. Later a minister returned, haughtily reminding them 
of the king’s command. Then rose Mirabeau, spokesman 
for the Third Estate, who said in a loud voice: “ Go tell 
your master that we are here by the will of the people and 
that nothing but the point of the bayonet will drive us 
away.” 

By this time the city of Paris, about twelve miles away, 
was in an uproar. The wrath of the people was rising 
against the king and upper classes. The king, becoming 
alarmed, at last ordered the nobles and clergy to sit with 
the commons in joint session, just what the commons had 
demanded from the beginning. The people had won the 
victory. Since friends and retainers of the king, Marie 
Antoinette, and the king’s brother, wanted to put down the 
Third Estate, the king sent Swiss and German soldiers, in 
the employ of France, to Paris, there to suppress any vio- 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILLE 


xv 


lence if he should send the deputies of the Third Estate home. 
The people in Paris became more excited, thinking that 
these troops stationed near the city might attack them. 
Finally it was rumored they really were about to attack the 
unarmed people. The better middle class united with the 
mobs and began preparations for defense. They drew up 
barricades in the streets and sacked every gunshop in Paris 
for arms. The soldiers failed to appear, and the maddened 
crowd spent its fury on the Bastille. Camille Desmoulins, a 
brilliant young journalist, rushed into the garden of the 
Palais Royal, where there were crowds of people, and urged 
them to arm and defend themselves. All night mobs surged 
about the streets in search of weapons, breaking into bakeries 
and taverns to satisfy their hunger and thirst. They ob¬ 
tained many weapons and much ammunition at the Hotel 
des Invalides. 


The Fall of the Bastille 

On July 14, the next day, when they were still hunting for 
more arms and ammunition, one of the lawless bands made 
its way to the ancient fortress of the Bastille, which stood in 
the poorer quarter of the city. Here the mob expected to 
find arms, but the governor of the fortress refused to supply 
the crowd with weapons. The Bastille appeared like a de¬ 
tested place of tyranny to the people, for it had long been 
used as a place of confinement for those whom the king had 
allowed to be imprisoned by the lettres de cachet. It was 
not a penitentiary, but a prison for state offenders, an em¬ 
blem of absolute royal authority and of feudal tyranny. On 
this account it was hateful to lovers of liberty. While there 
seemed no hope of taking the fortress, the walls of which, 
ten feet thick, towered high above them, the attempt was 
made. Negotiations with the governor were opened, and 
during these negotiations a part of the crowd pressed across 
a drawbridge into the court and were fired upon by the gar¬ 
rison inside. Meanwhile the mob on the outside continued 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION 


an ineffectual but desperate attack, until the governor was 
forced by the garrison to surrender, on condition that the 
troops should be allowed to retire unmolested. The draw¬ 
bridge was then let down, and the crowd rushed into the 
gloomy pile. They found only seven prisoners, whom they 
freed with great enthusiasm. But the better element in the 
crowd was unable to- restrain the violent and cruel class who 
proposed to avenge the slaughter of their companions in 
the courtyard of the Bastille. Consequently the Swiss sol¬ 
diers, who formed the garrison, were killed, and their heads, 
with that of De Launay, the governor, were paraded about 
the streets on pikes. This act was acclaimed as a heroic 
deed, and its anniversary is still celebrated as the chief na¬ 
tional holiday in France. Late at night the king at Ver¬ 
sailles was awakened from sleep and told of the event. 
“ This is revolt,” he exclaimed. “ No, sire,” answered the 
messenger, “ it is revolution.” 

When the news of what the mob had done in Paris 
reached the provinces, the people in those places began to 
storm the castles of their noble masters, who had to flee 
for their lives. Many of the castles and many abbeys were 
burned to the ground. Others were ransacked from top to 
bottom, the peasants being very careful, if possible, to see 
that the parchments, the feudal titles to their little farms, 
were destroyed. The day after the Bastille was captured 
its destruction was commenced. It was razed to the ground. 
A bronze column has been erected on its site. 

The key of the Bastille was sent by Lafayette to Washing¬ 
ton “ as a trophy of the spoils of despotism.” In a letter 
accompanying the gift Lafayette wrote: “That the prin¬ 
ciples of America opened the Bastille is not to be doubted, 
and therefore the key goes to the right place.” This key, 
about seven inches long, may be seen in a case at Mount 
Vernon, where there is also a model of the Bastille. The 
nobles became terrified and began to leave France in great 
numbers. Those who remained realized that to save them¬ 
selves from the fury of the masses they must give up their 
special privileges. In a single night the nobles and clergy 


THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY 


XVII 


gave up their rights to rents, tolls, fees, feudal dues, and 
gaming privileges. 


The National Assembly 

The National Assembly drew up the declaration of The 
Rights of Man , August 26, 1789, one of the most notable 
documents in the history of Europe. It was in imitation of 
what had been done by the American patriots. The king 
hesitated to ratify it, and there were rumors that he was 
calling troops to put down the Revolution. A regiment had 
arrived from Flanders and were entertained at Versailles. 
Some young nobles at the banquet, in honor of the queen, 
who was present, trampled under foot the tricolored cock¬ 
ades and substituted for them white cockades, the emblem 
of the Bourbon kings. The report of these proceedings 
caused the wildest excitement in Paris. Rumors of the in¬ 
tended flight of the king to Metz and of plots against the 
national cause made more excitement. Besides, bread had 
failed, and the poorer classes were savage from hunger. 

On the fifth of October, several thousand women and a 
number of armed men trudged the twelve miles to Versailles 
to ask bread of the king. The National Guards, infected 
with the same idea, forced their commander Lafayette to 
lead them in the same direction. The mob encamped in the 
streets of Versailles for the night. Early the next morning 
they broke into the palace, killed two of the guards, and 
forced their way into the apartment of the queen, who 
barely escaped with her life to the king’s apartments. The 
timely arrival of Lafayette alone saved the entire royal 
family from being massacred. The mob demanded that the 
king should go with them to Paris, and he was obliged to 
yield. The royal family was placed in the Tuileries, and 
Lafayette was charged with the duty of guarding the king. 
This was called the “joyous entry of October 6.” The 
starving people thought this meant more food, and they 
shouted about the royal carriage: “Here comes the Baker 


INTRODUCTION 


xviii 

and the Baker’s wife and the Baker’s child.” The palace of 
Versailles, with royalty and.courtiers all vanished, and left 
bespattered with blood, was never again to be a favorite 
residence of the kings of France. 

The National Assembly promptly followed the king to 
Paris and held its meetings in a riding school near the Tuil- 
eries. This was a great mistake, for the mobs in Paris con¬ 
stantly interfered with its deliberations. Mirabeau foresaw 
this and urged the removal of the king and the National 
Assembly to some outlying town. But nothing was done, and 
what he predicted came to pass. 

The king was kept a close prisoner in the Tuileries, and 
the National Assembly was busy making sweeping reforms. 
One of the most important of its measures was the confisca¬ 
tion of the property of the Church. But it was necessary 
that the government should provide some means for sup¬ 
porting the clergy. It solved the problem by decreeing 
popular election of all the clergy, bishops and parish priests 
alike, with salaries paid from the nation. All were to be re¬ 
quired to take the oath of allegiance to the new constitution. 
Thus the Church was to be governed by the state, not by its 
own independently elected heads. Consequently, the lower 
orders of clergy, who heretofore had been sympathetic with 
the people, became hostile to the National Assembly. 

The electoral system was also reformed. Those citizens 
only could vote for members of the National Assembly who 
paid a tax equal to three days’ labor. This law naturally 
deprived the poorer people of a voice in the government, in 
spite of the Declaration of the Rights of Man, which as¬ 
sured equal privileges to all. But the National Assembly 
succeeded in bringing about many remarkable changes in 
spite of its mistakes. In a little more than two years it 
carried out its tremendous task of modernizing France. Per¬ 
haps no body of men has accomplished so much in so short 
a time. 

For some time there was no great disorder. The deputies 
worked away on the new constitution, and on February 4, 
1790, the king visited the assembly and solemnly pledged 


THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 


xix 


himself and the queen to a limited monarchy. But Louis 
and Marie Antoinette were secretly in correspondence with 
the king of Prussia and the emperor of Austria, trying to 
induce them to intervene. The nobles still in France and 
those who had fled the country were also plotting. 

The Flight of the King 

On June 20, 1791, the king and the royal family at¬ 
tempted to make their way out of France to join the emi¬ 
grant nobles. Under cover of night and in disguise they es¬ 
caped from the Tuileries and went toward the frontier. 
When within about twenty-five miles from the end of the 
journey, they were recognized and brought back to Paris. 

In the meantime, the lower classes, feeling that they had 
merely exchanged the nobles for the middle classes as their 
masters, were clamorously discontented. Their leaders or¬ 
ganized Jacobin Clubs, so called because they met in a room 
at the Jacobin Monastery. This group was the most radical 
and blood-thirsty. The Jacobins, however, were not the 
only party. There were also the Girondists, composed of 
many prominent men from the district about Bordeaux, who 
wished to establish a more conservative government some¬ 
what like the American republic. There were also the 
Cordeliers, so named because of the Franciscan monastery 
where they held their meetings. The brothers of St. Francis 
wore as a girdle a rope or cord with three knots in it. Hence 
the name Cordelier&j 

The two brothers of Louis XVI had escaped from France 
and were the leaders of those emigrant nobles who were 
trying to get other countries to help them restore the aris¬ 
tocracy in France. 

Continental monarchs certainly had no sympathy with a 
revolution which treated kings with such scant courtesy as 
the French were exhibiting. The emperor of Austria, 
brother of Marie Antoinette, and the king of Prussia then 
announced that the restoration of the French king to power 
was of “ common interest to all sovereigns in Europe.” 


xx INTRODUCTION 

In August, 1791, they prepared troops to enter France. 
While this was more of a threat, in the first place, than any¬ 
thing else, it greatly excited and terrified the Revolutionists. 

It was just about this time that the National Assembly at 
last finished the constitution which had occupied the mem¬ 
bers for more than two years. The king swore to obey it 
faithfully. The Assembly then broke up and gave way to 
the regular congress provided for by the new constitution, 
— the Legislative Assembly — which held its first meeting 
on October 1, 1791. This was composed of young and inex¬ 
perienced men, for the members of the National Assembly 
had taken an oath that they would not be members of ‘the 
Legislative Assembly, since it would not be exactly proper, 
some of them thought, for them to hold positions in an or¬ 
ganization which they themselves had created. Hence the 
new governing body, the Legislative Assembly, was not 
strong enough nor wise enough to control the affairs of 
France. 

On June 20, 1792, some of the lesser leaders of the Paris 
population resolved to celebrate the anniversary of the 
Tennis Court Oath. They made a procession which was 
permitted to march through the riding school where the As¬ 
sembly sat. The ensigns of the mob were a calf’s heart on 
the point of a pike, labeled “ The Heart of an Aristocrat 
and a pair of knee breeches representing the older costume 
of a gentleman, which was now going out of fashion, since 
the Girondists, in order to show their democratic senti¬ 
ments, had adopted the long trousers which had been worn 
before only by workingmen. To give up knee breeches, and 
become a “ Sansculotte,” or “ Breechless ” patriot, was con¬ 
sidered an unmistakable sign of love for the Revolution. 
After visiting the Assembly the crowd went into the neigh¬ 
boring palace of the Tuileries. They wandered through the 
beautiful apartments shouting against the king, who might 
have been killed if he had not consented to drink to the 
health of the “ Nation ” whose representatives were roughly 
crowding him into a window, and to put on a red ‘ liberty 
cap,” the badge of the “ citizen patriots.” 


“THE MEN OF MARSEILLES” 


xxi 


In the meantime, the Duke of Brunswick advanced with 
an army, to restore Louis XVI to his old power (July, 
1792). The duke declared that they would put an end to 
the Revolution; that those who resisted would be punished; 
that if Paris offered the least violence to king or queen, or 
again permitted the Tuileries to be invaded, his armies 
would burn the whole city. The Assembly now declared 
the country to be in danger. The leaders in Paris deter¬ 
mined to force the Assembly to depose the king. Danton 
and others on the radical side had been preparing the way 
for a republican form of government, by speeches and 
written articles. Danton was becoming almost as popular 
with the masses as Mirabeau had been. Dr. Marat, a physi¬ 
cian and scholar, who had published many scientific works 
before the Revolution, was now conducting a very violent 
radical paper called “ The Friend of the People ” in which 
he denounced nobility, clergy, and middle classes, taking the 
part of the great mass of working people in the towns and 
peasants in the fields. Desmoulins, who had incited the peo¬ 
ple to storm the Bastille, also conducted a newspaper which 
strengthened the radical element in Paris. These leaders 
were all strongly against the king. 

“ The Men of Marseilles ” 

After very careful preparations an attack on the Tuileries 
was planned. Five hundred members of the National Guard 
from the city of Marseilles were urged to join in this attack. 
They came, all the way from the Mediterranean Sea, drag¬ 
ging their cannon through the July dust for hundreds of 
miles. They entered Paris singing a most thrilling and ex¬ 
citing song. The people liked it so well that they began to 
learn it immediately. At first it was known as the song that 
the men from Marseilles sang, then just by the title The 
Song from Marseilles; but it finally became known only as 
the Marseillaise and was adopted as the national song of 
France. The French wanted a song that did not praise the 
officials and government of their country. They wanted 


XXII 


INTRODUCTION 


something entirely opposite from God Save the King. It 
was composed by the young Frenchman, Rouget de Lisle, 
an engineer, 1792. 

On August 10, 1792, came the crisis in the French Revolu¬ 
tion. The radicals, having seized the city government, 
stirred up the insurrection. The night before, members of 
the Jacobin clubs rang the bells of Paris to call out the in¬ 
surrectionists and prepare for the attack. From the slums 
and from every section of the city multitudes came, arming 
themselves with pikes and muskets. In the early morning 
the mobs gathered about the palace of the Tuileries. There 
were fifteen hundred Swiss guards there, and many other 
thoroughly trained and faithful defenders of the court. 
King Louis might have saved his throne if he had been a 
brave man. With his family he had taken refuge in the 
neighboring riding school, where they were respectfully re¬ 
ceived by the Assembly, holding meetings there, and were 
assigned a safe place in the newspaper reporters' gallery. 
From this place the king sent the message to his Swiss guards 
that they were not to fire on the mobs. This was a terrible 
mistake. 

The men from Marseilles, “ six hundred Marseillais who 
knew how to die," led in the attack. The Swiss fired on 
them and drove them back. This is what they would have 
continued to do, but the king's order came telling them not 
to fire. The mobs came again, but the Swiss had re¬ 
ceived the order not to fire. The infuriated mobs struck 
down the guards in their tracks or hunted them to death as 
they were trying to escape. The Swiss were massacred al¬ 
most to the last man. All day the king sat in the Assembly 
chamber. He heard the roar of the cannon and the shrieks 
of his dying guards without. He heard also the debate on 
the motion that he be suspended from his great office 
as king of France, and saw its final passage by a unani¬ 
mous vote. The mob had overawed the Assembly. 
The number of Swiss guards killed was seven hundred. 
Their faithfulness and devotion are commemorated by 
one of the most impressive monuments in Europe, the 


“THE MEN OF MARSEILLES” xxiii 

so-called Lion of Lucerne, in Switzerland. In a large 
recess in a cliff a dying lion, pierced by a lance, protects 
with its paw the Bourbon lilies. The figure, cut out of 
the natural rock, was designed by the celebrated Danish 
sculptor, Thorvaldsen. 

The Legislative Assembly wanted other countries to be¬ 
lieve that they were peaceful and intended no conquest; 
that they simply believed in universal brotherhood, to illus¬ 
trate which they conferred privileges of French citizenship 
upon a number of distinguished foreigners: Priestley, Wil- 
berforce, Schiller, Washington, and Kosciusko. Also they 
extended the right of voting to every one. 

But nothing prevented the army of the allies from hurry¬ 
ing on toward Paris to avenge the slaughter of the royal 
guards and to rescue the king. Paris was all excitement. 
“ We must stop the enemy,” cried Danton, “ by striking 
terror into the royalists.” To do this the most horrible mas¬ 
sacre was planned. It was resolved that the royalists and 
priests, thrown into prison on suspicion, should be killed; 
this would also make more room in the crowded prisons. 
The city government of Paris, called the Commune, decided 
on this cold-blooded massacre. A hundred or more men 
acted as executioners just outside the prison doors, and to 
them the prisoners were handed over after a hasty examina¬ 
tion before self-appointed judges. When the assassins grew 
weary, refreshments were brought to them — “ bread and 
wine for the laborers who were delivering the nation from 
its enemies.” Refreshed by the bread and wine, they re¬ 
sumed their work of emancipating France. This was the 
horrible September Massacre (“ Jail Delivery ”) September 
1-5, 1792. More than twelve hundred men, women, and 
children were killed. 

On September 20, 1792, the French army defeated the 
allies. The rejoicing of the French was naturally great, and 
they resolved now to carry the principles of the Revolution 
into other lands and against other kings. 

In the meantime, after the king had been deposed, the 
government naturally fell with him. This meant that the 


XXIV 


INTRODUCTION 


Legislative Assembly must provide a new body to draft a 
second constitution. Its first act was to force the abdica¬ 
tion of the king. 

The ardent republicans believed that Louis should be put 
to death for treason, as it was known that he had secretly 
encouraged the enemies of France to invade the country. 
The fallen monarch was therefore tried by the Convention. 
He was pronounced guilty and by a small majority was con¬ 
demned to death. On January 21, 1793, Louis was sent to 
the guillotine, a newly invented machine for cutting off 
heads (still used in France at the present day). He died 
bravely. In the following October, 1793, Marie Antoinette, 
condemned for the same offense by a revolutionary tribunal, 
was executed in the same manner. All titles of nobility 
were now abolished. Every one was to be addressed simply 
as citizen. Incited by the success of the French armies, the 
Convention called upon all nations to rise against despotism 
and pledged the aid of France to any people wishing to 
secure freedom. This call to the peoples of Europe to rise 
against their kings and to set up republican governments 
was a fresh challenge to the other countries to make war 
upon the French Revolutionists. 

Thus things went from bad to worse. The kings of Eu¬ 
rope, fearful for their thrones and their necks, formed a 
coalition to accomplish what Prussia and Austria failed to 
do. In addition, the people of France were divided among 
themselves. Then followed the most fearful period in the 
history of the struggle — the Reign of Terror, with which 
so great a part of The Tale of Two Cities is concerned. It 
lasted from September, 1793, to July, 1794, about ten 
months. 

Afraid of enemies from within and enemies from without, 
the government established a Committee of Safety with 
almost unlimited powers. One of the worst laws under 
which this committee ruthlessly sent people to death was 
called the Law of Suspects, under which one could be im¬ 
prisoned for mere suspicion. Thousands of people were 
sent to prison for no crime at all. 


“THE NATIONAL RAZOR” 


xxv 


“ The National Razor ” 

The guillotine was now fed daily with the best blood of 
France. Two weeks after the execution of the queen, 
twenty of the chiefs of the Girondists were , executed. Hun¬ 
dreds of others followed. Most illustrious of all the victims 
after the queen was Madame Roland, who was accused of 
being the friend of the Girondists. Her husband, Jean 
Roland, had been a high official in the government. He and 
his lovely wife made their home the headquarters of many 
of their Girondist friends, where the interests of their coun¬ 
try were discussed and plans formulated for the future of 
the people of France. As Madame Roland was about to be 
executed, she saw a statue of liberty and exclaimed: 

“ Oh, Liberty ! how many crimes are committed in your 
name! ” She was very beautiful, even as she rode in the 
rough cart to the guillotine, in a simple white dress, her long 
black glossy hair falling in curls and ringlets. Her husband 
had not been summoned, being at some distance and so es¬ 
caping the Jacobins. When he heard that his wife had been 
executed, he killed himself with his cane sword. His body, 
was found by the roadside. A paper in his pocket contained 
his last words which were: “ Whoever you are who finds 
these remains, respect them, as those of a man who conse¬ 
crated his life to usefulness, and who dies as he has lived, 
virtuous and honest. — On hearing of my wife’s death I 
would not remain another day on this earth so .stained with 
crimes.” 

The bloodthirsty Dr. Marat had been most responsible 
for the death of the Girondists. He took such an active 
part in having thousands go to their death that it seemed as 
if he were the great power of the Reign of Terror. A beauti¬ 
ful young girl living in Normandy, Charlotte Corday, 
thought that if Marat could be killed the Reign of Terror 
would be over. Knowing that it would be immediate death 
to her, she went to Paris with a concealed dagger and, man¬ 
aging to enter his home, stabbed him to death. A few days 
later she was executed on the guillotine. But the death of 


XXVI 


INTRODUCTION 


Marat made no difference in the Reign of Terror. After 
Marat’s death, the two great leaders were Danton and 
Robespierre. Both were sincere men, intensely anxious to 
improve France, and they both believed that the use of the 
guillotine was necessary to rid the country of its enemies. 
Since Danton did not believe in so much bloodshed, Robes¬ 
pierre and some of the extreme radicals began to condemn 
him. The Jacobins were divided into three factipns, headed 
by Hebert, Robespierre, and Danton. 

Hebert and his followers were the first to fall, going to 
their execution because they were too radical. Danton and 
his party were the next to follow, because they were not 
radical enough. The last words of Danton to the execu¬ 
tioner were: “ Show my head to the people; they do not see 
the like every day.” The request was granted. As Danton 
was passing the home of Robespierre while being carted to 
the guillotine, he shouted in a powerful voice, “ You will 
soon follow us! ” With him on his last ride was the witty, 
brilliant Desmoulins who also had joined the moderates, he 
who had led the attack on the Bastille. 

Robespierre was now the leader in France. During this 
time the great Committee of Public Safety at Paris was rul¬ 
ing France in a most frightful manner. The revolutionary 
tribunal had absolute power and now had persons convicted 
and sentenced to death without any witnesses, evidence, or 
any trial whatever. The Convention had lost all its power. 
There was a terrible slaughter at the guillotine daily. Over 
two hundred thousand persons were crowded into the 
prisons of Paris and of the departments, simply on sus¬ 
picion. In seven weeks thirteen hundred and seventy-six 
persons were guillotined at Paris — an average of twenty- 
eight a day. 

In the provinces matters were even worse in certain sec¬ 
tions. Some of the cities which had been favorable to the 
Girondists and had tried to support them were made hor¬ 
rible examples of the vengeance of the revolutionists. The 
Convention passed the decree, “ The city of Lyons shall be 
destroyed; every house occupied by a rich man shall be 


THE END OF THE TERROR xxvii 

demolished.” The decree was carried out to the extent that 
one of the most aristocratic quarters of the city was torn 
down. At Nantes the agent of the Great Committee was a 
man by the name of Carrier. At first he caused his victims 
to be shot singly or to be guillotined, but finding these meth¬ 
ods too slow, he urged quicker methods to be used. The 
fusillades consisted in gathering the victims in large com¬ 
panies and then mowing them down with cannon and musket. 
Another way, known as noyades, was to have a hundred or 
more persons crowded into an old hulk, which was then 
towed out into the Loire river and scuttled. In these ways 
Carrier killed five thousand persons in four months, many 
of them women and little children. 

The End of the Terror 

The Reign of Terror had lasted about nine months when 
a reaction came. The people began to rebel against the hor¬ 
rible massacres and grew afraid of Robespierre’s continual 
slaughter, never knowing who would be the next victim. A 
conspiracy was formed against him, and the Convention 
was induced to order his arrest. This was done on July 27, 
1794. He called upon the Commune of Paris to defend him, 
but the Convention was able to maintain its authority and 
to send him to the guillotine. St. Just, his fellow worker, 
who was also responsible for the Reign of Terror, was guil¬ 
lotined at the same time. After this the Revolutionary 
Tribunal did not convict very many of those who were 
brought before it, but it had those executed who had been 
leaders in the worst atrocities. The public prosecutor in 
Paris, the terrorists who had ordered the massacres at 
Nantes and Lyons, were sent to the guillotine. Within a 
few months the Jacobin Club at Paris was closed by the 
Convention and the Commune of Paris abolished. 

The National Convention had done a great deal to im¬ 
prove the government of France. Its committees had raised 
a million troops, organized and equipped them with arms 
and sent them forth to victory. Some of the reforms 


INTRODUCTION 


xxviii 

planned by the National Assembly had been developed and 
carried on. The Convention had made a great system of 
elementary education for the new republic which was later 
carried out. A new code of laws was made to take the 
place of the old laws of France, although Napoleon revised 
them and so gained all the credit. The system of weights 
and measures known as the metric system, which the Con¬ 
vention introduced, has been adopted by most nations of 
continental Europe and is used by men of science in Eng¬ 
land and America. The land which had been taken from 
the church and the runaway nobles was sold in small lots, so 
the number of small landholders was increased. Then the 
Convention drew up a constitution for the new republic. 
This placed the executive power in a body called the Di¬ 
rectory, consisting of five persons, and provided two legis¬ 
lative bodies known as the Council of Five Hundred and the 
Council of Ancients. It was also provided that two thirds 
of the new legislature should be composed of members of 
the National Convention. This displeased the Paris mobs, 
and on October 5, 1795, forty thousand men advanced to 
attack the Tuileries where the Convention was sitting. But 
Napoleon Bonaparte had been ordered to defend this place 
and had his troops all ready for the mob. As they advanced 
his men fired great blasts of grapeshot at them which made 
them disperse very quickly. Then he had them all dis¬ 
armed, which put an end to mob violence. 

Though the French Revolution was such a horrible dis¬ 
aster to France, it brought changes which greatly benefited 
that country and propagated ideas of democracy that have 
been good for the whole world. People not only began to 
think about their rights, but also about their responsibilities. 
The common people now had a chance, which had not al¬ 
ways been possible under the old governments. The ideas 
of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, have affected all the gov¬ 
ernments of the world. One lesson learned was the great 
power in the masses, when directed against a common ob¬ 
ject. This was not only learned by privileged classes but by 
the masses themselves, and this knowledge gave them a 


THE END OF THE TERROR xxix 

place in the councils of the world that they had never had 
before. 


Questions and Projects 

1. What is a revolution? 2. Name two revolutions besides 
our own American Revolution. Why do people ever want 
a revolution? 3. Why did the French want a change of gov¬ 
ernment? 4. Who were the privileged classes in France? 
5. The Third Estate? 

6. What were the social conditions in France before the 
Revolution? Compare these with social conditions in France 
today. 7. How have decorators and artists made the name of 
Louis XIV familiar to us? 8. What can you say about cus¬ 
toms and duties paid in France before the Revolution? Com¬ 
pare with the system in the United States today. 9. What 
reforms did Turgot try to bring about? 10. Describe the 
parlement system. 

11. What were the four principles of the Declaration of 
Rights? 12. What was the meeting of the Estates General? 
13. Describe the Tennis Court Oath. 14. What act of the king 
caused the people to arm themselves? 15. Describe the time 
and manner of the fall of the Bastille. Who led the attack? 

16. What became of the great key of the Bastille? Explain. 

17. What was the position of Lafayette during the French 
Revolution? 18. Who were the Emigrants, and what were 
their plans? 19. Who were the Jacobins? 20. Tell about the 
Sansculottes. 

21. Who were the Girondists? 22. Describe the attack on 
the Tuileries, with special reference to the men from Mar¬ 
seilles. 23. What was the September Massacre? 24. Describe 
the accusation against Louis XVI and the sentence. 25. What 
does the Lion of Lucerne commemorate? 

26. How long did the Reign of Terror last? Why was it 
instituted? 27. What was the Law of Suspects? 28. What 
was the effect of the French Revolution on France and the rest 
of the world? 29. How did the American Revolution affect 
the French people? 

Exercises and Projects 

1. Bring to class all the French pictures relating in any way 
to the people or places mentioned in the sketch. (Some mod- 


XXX 


INTRODUCTION 


em pictures, though names have been changed, vividly recall 
this period.) 2. Sketch the history of the Place de la Con¬ 
corde. 3. Can you mention any other novels in which Notre 
Dame is mentioned? 

4. Discuss the statement that Napoleon was a greater pa¬ 
triot than Washington. 5. Do you think the French Revolu¬ 
tion did more harm than good? 6. Do you think the present 
government of France or America preferable to a limited 
monarchy? 


LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS 


Why Dickens Is Great 

T HE people we remember longest are those who have 
had much influence, who have caused greater things to 
happen, or not to happen, than those about them. It is 
necessary to discover in what manner Charles Dickens had 
such great influence, what he caused to happen which 
showed greater strength than that of others about him, 
what made him stand above other people not only of his 
own time but of all times. For there is no doubt that 
Charles Dickens is better remembered than any other novel¬ 
ist.'"" He has been not only the most popular novelist of the 
nineteenth century but is still the writer whose books, as a 
whole, have had a greater sale than those of any other novel¬ 
ist of the present day. During the World War there were 
more of these novels read in the army camps than any others. 

Success is measured by the handicaps overcome as well 
as by surpassing achievements. Dickens showed his great 
strength, courage, and remarkable personality by overcom¬ 
ing the two very great handicaps of poverty and lack of 
education. He was born at Landport in Portsea on the 
southern coast of England, February 7, 1812, being the sec¬ 
ond child in the family, of which there were six more chil¬ 
dren later. His father, John Dickens, was a clerk in the 
navy pay office with a salary of eighty pounds a year 
(about $388), not enough for such a large family even in 
those times when money had greater value than in later 
times. Although the salary was increased afterwards to 
three hundred and fifty pounds (about $1697) his father 
was never able to live within his income. He seemed to be 
always poor and improvident, a man of considerable ability 
but not capable of any kind of financial management. 


XXXI 


XXX11 


INTRODUCTION 


Dickens’s Boyhood 

The boyhood of Dickens was probably quite unhappy, for 
it was full of hardship and worry. Much of the story of 
David Copper field was his own life and Mr. Micawber (in 
the same book), genial, hopeful, sorrowful, despairing, jolly, 
easy-going, always waiting for “ something to turn up ” was 
the character of his own father. Mrs. Dickens is said to 
have been a great deal like Mrs. Nickleby — not very intel¬ 
lectual, impractical, often rather simple and almost frivo¬ 
lous, although always kind, affectionate and of excellent 
character. At one time Mrs. Dickens tried to help out the 
family income by starting a private school for young ladies. 
On the front door was a door-plate reading, “ Mrs. Dick¬ 
ens’s Establishment.” Charles was sent around to dis¬ 
tribute circulars describing the advantages of this school; 
but though he left these at many doors, nobody ever came 
to the school, and he could not remember seeing his mother 
make any preparation for receiving pupils if they should 
come. But his mother taught him to read when he was very 
young and also to construe a little Latin, which showed that 
she was above the average mother of those times. 

At the age of eight began the first regular school expe¬ 
rience of Charles Dickens. For one year he attended the 
school of a Mr. Giles in Clover Lane, Chatham, where John 
Dickens, his father, happened to be stationed at the time. 
Mr. Giles did a great deal for the young boy with his sym¬ 
pathy, intelligence, and ability to interest him in books. It 
was here that Dickens began to read a great deal. When 
the child was almost ten years old, the family moved to 
London; and on account of the constantly increasing pov¬ 
erty of his father, they were forced to live in a very poor 
house in one of the poorest of the London suburbs. About 
those early years Dickens said: “ I know that we got on 
very badly with the butcher and baker; and that very often 
we had not too much for dinner; and that at last my father 
was arrested.” 

He was arrested because he could not pay his bills, and 


DICKENS’S BOYHOOD 


xxxiii 

placed in the Marshalsea Prison for debtors. Dickens has 
left a description of his first visit to his father in prison. 
“ My father was waiting .for me in the lodge, and we 
went up to his room (on the story next to the top but 
one), and cried very much. And he told me, I remember, 
to take warning by the Marshalsea, and to observe that if a 
man had twenty pounds a year, and spent nineteen pounds, 
nineteen shillings, and sixpence, he would be happy; but a 
shilling spent the other way would make him wretched. I 
see the fire we sat before, now; with two bricks inside 
the rusted grate, one on each side, to prevent its burning 
too many coals. Some other debtor shared the room 
with him, who came in by and by; and as the dinner was 
a joint-stock repast, I was sent up to ‘ Captain Porter ’ 
in the room overhead, with Mr. Dickens’s compliments 
and I was his son, and could he, Captain P. lend me a 
knife and fork? ” 

Later he said: “ I know my father to be as kind-hearted 
and generous a man as ever lived in the world. Every¬ 
thing that I can remember of his conduct to his wife, or 
children, or friends, in sickness or affliction is beyond all 
praise. By me, as a sick child, he has watched night and 
day, unweariedly and patiently many nights and days. He 
never undertook any business charge, or trust that he did 
not jealously, conscientiously, punctually, honorably, dis¬ 
charge. His industry has always been untiring. He was 
proud of me, in his way. . . . But in the ease of his tem¬ 
per, and the straitness of his means, he appeared to have 
utterly lost at this time the idea of educating me at all, and 
to have utterly put from him the notion that I had any 
claim upon him, in that regard, whatever. So I degenerated 
into cleaning his boots of a morning, and my own; and mak¬ 
ing myself useful in the work of the little house; and looking 
after my younger brothers and sisters; and going on such 
errands as arose out of our poor way of living.” In The Un¬ 
commercial Traveler Dickens gives a picture of himself as a 
child. He was a “ very queer small boy,” nine years old, 
with delicate health; fond of reading, having read many 


XXXIV 


INTRODUCTION 


books unusual to be read by so young a child. In David 
Copperfield a list of these books is given which included 
Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, 
Tom Jones, The Vicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Bias, 
and Robinson Crusoe. He tells us also that he used to 
impersonate the characters Tom Jones or Roderick for 
weeks at a time. 

When Charles was twelve years old, a relative who had 
recently become interested in the blacking business sug¬ 
gested that the boy take a position in this warehouse; so he 
went to work for the firm, pasting labels on bottles and 
boxes, a job that he thoroughly detested. He said of him¬ 
self during that time: “No words can express the secret 
agony of my soul as I sunk into this companionship; com¬ 
pared these every-day associates with those of my happier 
childhood; and felt my early hopes of growing up to be a 
learned and distinguished man crushed in my breast. The 
deep remembrance of the sense I had of being utterly neg¬ 
lected and hopeless; of the shame I felt in my position; of 
the misery it was to my young heart to believe that, day by 
day, what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, and 
raised my fancy and my emulation up by, was passing away 
from me, never to be brought back any more, cannot be 
written. My whole nature was so penetrated with grief 
and humiliation of such considerations that even now, fa¬ 
mous and caressed and happy, I often forget in my dreams 
that I have a dear wife and children; even that I am a man; 
and wander desolately back to that time of my life. . . . 
At last, one day, my father and the relative quarreled, quar¬ 
reled by letter, for I took the letter from my father to him 
which caused the explosion, but quarreled very fiercely. It 
was about me. All that I am certain of is that soon after I 
had given him the letter, my cousin (he was a sort of cousin 
by marriage) told me he was very much insulted about me, 
and that it was impossible to keep me after that. I cried 
very much, partly because it was so sudden, and partly be¬ 
cause in his anger he was violent about my father, though 
gentle to me. Thomas, the old soldier, comforted me, and 


DICKENS TURNS REPORTER 


XXXV 


said he was sure it was for the best. With a relief so strange 
that it was like oppression, I went home. 

“ My mother set herself to accommodate the quarrel, and 
did so next day. She brought home a request for me to re¬ 
turn next morning, and a high character of me, which I am 
very sure I deserved. My father said I should go back no 
more, and should go to school. I do not write resentfully 
or angrily, for I know how all these things have worked 
together to make me what I am; but I never afterwards 
forgot, I never shall forget, I never can forget, that my 
mother was warm for my being sent back.” 

He was twelve when he left the blacking warehouse, and 
up to this time he had felt lonely and neglected very many 
times. Now he was sent to school at Wellington House 
Academy for about two years. This was his last school ex¬ 
perience. The school, although not an extra fine one, gave 
him the companionship which he had always wanted. He 
was a day scholar for about two years. This period did not 
seem to make much impression on his mind, except to 
brighten his life and make his disposition more cheerful. 
From twelve to fourteen he worked as an attorney’s clerk 
at a salary of thirteen shillings sixpence a week, afterward 
increased to fifteen shillings. Here he picked up the knowl¬ 
edge of human life, criminals, law and judicial proceedings 
which he used so effectively in his stories. But he did not 
intend to be a lawyer’s clerk all his life. His father, after 
leaving the debtor’s prison, had taken up journalism, and 
Charles decided to follow his example. He began the study 
of shorthand, working very hard at this. At the same time 
he spent much time reading in the library of the British 
Museum. 


Dickens Turns Reporter 

In a year or two he became an expert stenographer. He 
was nineteen when he became a reporter for the True Sun 
and entered the gallery of the House of Commons to report 
the proceedings for the paper. When he was twenty-three 


XXXVI 


INTRODUCTION 


he became a reporter for the Morning Chronicle; and from 
this time his future as a writer seemed established. He 
soon began to write for periodicals. His first article was a 
little story, called “A Dinner at Poplar Walk.” This, he 
says, he dropped very secretly into “ a dark letter box in a 
dark office up a dark court in Fleet-Street.” It was printed 
in the Old Monthly Magazine when he was twenty-one 
years old. He was overcome with joy at this event. “ I 
walked down to Westminster Hall ” he later wrote, “ and 
turned into it for half an hour, because my eyes were so 
dimmed with joy and pride that they could not bear the 
streets and were not fit to be seen there.” 

Other articles were printed in the same magazine and 
were later collected and printed in two small volumes under 
the title of Sketches by Boz (an old family nickname in the 
Dickens family). These little sketches give a good descrip¬ 
tion of London in the time of Dickens. They were favor¬ 
ably received and encouraged the author to attempt more 
writing. 

As a new writer he was asked to write a series of comic 
sketches on sporting subjects. It was suggested that he 
write the adventures of the members of some eccentric club. 
So Dickens wrote the Pickwick Papers. The story came 
out in twenty monthly installments, costing one shilling a 
number, and finally was published in book form. This story 
made Dickens famous, and he was asked to write more 
stories. A new class of characters representing certain odd 
phases of life became well known to the public. Mr. Pick¬ 
wick, Sam Weller, Mr. Winkle and others were made fa¬ 
miliar to all peoples. There was an enormous demand for 
copies of these stories. Dickens remained just as popular 
to the day of his death. In England alone, during the 
twelve years succeeding his death, more than 4,239,000 
volumes were sold. Before he had finished Pickwick, he 
began work on Oliver Twist, and the two were running in 
monthly installments at the same time. 

He made his characters, who were almost always poor and 
humble people, enormously popular; and he did a great deal 


DICKENS IN AMERICA xxxvii 

toward making their lot an easier one. In Oliver Twist he 
denounced the wretched way in which poorhouses cared for 
their dependents. In Nicholas Nickleby he described Mr. 
Squeers’s school so vividly that several masters threatened 
to sue him for describing a school which their guilty con¬ 
sciences recognized as their own. In Bleak House he sati¬ 
rized the slow and expensive procedure of the courts. 

Dickens in America 

It was a great test of his strength of character when he 
visited America in 1842, for the Americans were so glad to 
see him that he was treated much as Lindbergh was treated 
when he landed in Paris. There was one continuous joyful 
celebration and a most tremendous desire to see him all the 
time he was in America. Describing that time in some of 
his letters, he said: “ How can I give you the faintest notion 
of my reception here; of the crowds that pour in and out 
the whole day; of the people that line the streets when I go 
out; of the cheering when I went to the theater; of the 
copies of verses of congratulation, welcomes of all kinds, 
balls, dinners, assemblies without end? . . . What can I 
tell you about any of these things which will give you the 
slightest notion of the enthusiastic greeting they give me, 
or the cry that runs through the whole country! ” 

The public did not give him any rest day or night. When 
he went through New England, his journey was like that 
of a president of the United States. At some of the smaller 
cities through which he passed, almost the entire population 
turned out, and the train was stopped to give the people a 
chance to see him. In the larger cities where he spoke there 
were gigantic receptions before and after the lecture. Re¬ 
garding more of his visit he said: “ Dana, the author of Two 
Years Before the Mast, is a very nice fellow indeed; and in 
appearance not at all the man you would expect. He is 
short, mild looking and has a care worn face. The pro¬ 
fessors at the Cambridge University, Longfellow, Felton, 
Jared Sparks, are noble fellows. Bancroft is a famous man; 


xxxviii INTRODUCTION 

a straight forward, manly earnest heart. Dr. Channing I 
will tell you more of, after I have breakfasted with him. 
We leave here next Saturday. We go to a town called 
Worcester, about seventy-five miles off, to the house of the 
governor of this place) and stay with him all Sunday. On 
Monday we go on by railroad about fifty miles farther to a 
town called Springfield, where I am met by a ‘ reception 
committee ’ from Hartford twenty miles farther, and carried 
on by the multitude. On Wednesday I have a public dinner 
there. On Friday I shall be obliged to present myself in 
public again, at a place called New Haven, about thirty 
miles farther. On Saturday evening I hope to be in New 
York.” In this place he met Washington Irving for whom 
he had much admiration. His stay in Washington is de¬ 
scribed in his own words: “ I have the privilege of appear¬ 
ing on the floor of both houses here, and go to them every 
day. They are very handsome and commodious. There is a 
great deal of bad speaking, but there are a very great many 
remarkable men, in the legislature; such as John Qumcy 
Adams, Clay, Preston, Calhoun, and others: with whom I 
need scarcely add I have been placed in the friendliest rela¬ 
tions. Adams is a fine old fellow — seventy-six years old, 
but with the most surprising vigor, memory, readiness and 
pluck. Clay is perfectly enchanting; an irresistible man. 
There are some very noble specimens, too, out of the West. 
Splendid men to look at, hard to deceive, prompt to act, 
lions in energy, Indians in quickness of eye and gesture, 
Americans in affectionate and generous impulse. 

But all this admiration and love for Dickens by the 
Americans did not blind him to their faults any more than 
the affection of his own people blinded him to the faults of 
the English nation. When he reached home after his visit 
Dickens published a volume called American Notes, in 
which he gave some fine descriptions of his visits and criti¬ 
cized favorably and unfavorably. It is interesting to know 
that this book was the means of Helen Keller’s beginnin 
her education. As she was deaf and blind since she was 
little more than a year old, her future seemed hopeless. 


bC c3 


THE HEIGHT OF FAME 


XXXIX 


One day when she was six her mother remembered reading 
in Dickens’s American Notes the description of the marvel¬ 
ous achievements of the deaf and blind girl Laura Bridgman, 
who was educated in a school in Boston which Dickens had 
praised very highly. Mrs. Keller sent 40 this school for a 
teacher for Helen, and Miss Anne Sullivan (Mrs. Macey) 
was sent, one of the most wonderful teachers the world has 
ever known. The miraculous attainments of Helen Keller 
are known to all peoples at the present time. (Mark 
Twain said that Helen Keller and Napoleon were the two 
most interesting characters of the nineteenth century.) 

As the years went by, novels followed one another in 
rapid succession. After American Notes came Martin Chuz- 
zlewit, also containing descriptions of American life. Then, 
after a trip abroad during which he still wrote, Dickens be¬ 
came manager of a group of amateur actors at Manchester. 
They called themselves the “ Plendid Strollers ” and under 
Dickens’s direction became quite famous. They played the 
rollicking comedy of Ben Jonson, Every Man in His Hu¬ 
mour. In 1852 they presented a farce entitled Mr. Night¬ 
ingale before Queen Victoria. 

The greatest novel of all came out in 1850. David Cop- 
perfield contains the humor and pathos of his earlier works 
with his ability at character drawing finally developing into 
character building, which most critics consider a still higher 
and more difficult form of art. 

The Height of Fame 

During the last years of his life, when he was about fifty- 
eight, Dickens gave readings from his own books. From the 
favorable position in which the public held him Dickens felt 
sure that he would be well received, and he was not at all 
disappointed. In fact, he was more successful than he had 
imagined he could be. This was due to his dramatic ability 
as well as to his interesting readings and his popularity with 
people in general. He soon began to memorize all his selec¬ 
tions for his readings which made him still more entertain- 


xl 


INTRODUCTION 


ing. After traveling over the British Isles, he visited the 
United States for the second time to give readings in this 
country also. Here he was again received with wild enthu¬ 
siasm and his readings were wonderfully popular. He said, 
regarding this time: “It is really impossible to exaggerate 
the magnificence of the reception or the effect of the read¬ 
ing. The whole city will talk of nothing else to-day. Every 
ticket for those announced here [Boston] and in New York, 
is sold.” Dickens gave readings in Philadelphia, Washing¬ 
ton, Baltimore, Buffalo, Albany, Springfield, Portland, 
Maine, and in every place he went he was given the same 
ovation. But his health began to decline before he left this 
country. Such hard and constant work for so many years 
showed its effect in a weakened constitution. 

When he returned to England, however, he wished to 
make one more series of readings. The Mystery of Edwin 
Drood was the subject which was appearing in the maga¬ 
zine All the Year Round . This story gave promise of being 
the best of any of the previous novels. But it was never 
finished. The mystery was never solved. Dickens died 
very suddenly at his home, Gadshill Place, near Rochester, 
on June 9, 1870. He was buried in Westminster Abbey. 
Almost the whole world mourned the loss of this greatest 
writer of the nineteenth century. In his will he said re¬ 
garding his funeral: “ I emphatically direct that I be buried 
in an inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private man¬ 
ner; that no public announcement be made of the time or 
place of my burial; that at the utmost not more than three 
plain mourning coaches be employed, and that those who 
attend my funeral wear no scarf, cloak, black bow, long hat 
band, or other such revolting absurdity. I direct that my 
name be inscribed in plain English letters on my tomb with¬ 
out the addition of ‘ Mr.’ or ‘ Esquire/ I conjure my friends 
on no account to make me the subject of any monument, 
memorial, or testimonial whatever. I rest my claims to the 
remembrance of my country upon my published works, and 
to the remembrance of my friends upon their experience of 
me in addition thereto.” Everything was done that could 


THE HEIGHT OF FAME 


xli 


possibly be done to carry out these wishes, but no one could 
have prevented the great display of grief in nearly every 
country and the many testimonials to his memory. Dickens 
had ten children, seven of whom were living at the time of 
his death. 

Carlyle described the appearance of Dickens in a letter 
to John Carlyle in 1840. “ He is a fine little fellow — Boz, 
I think. Clear blue, intelligent eyes, eyebrows that he 
arches amazingly. Large, protrusive, rather loose mouth, a 
face of most extreme mobility, which he shuttles about — 
eyebrows, eyes, mouth and all — in a very singular manner 
while speaking ... a quiet, shrewd-looking little fellow, who 
seems to guess pretty well that he is and what others are.” 

Daniel Webster said that Dickens had done more to bet¬ 
ter the condition of the English poor than all the statesmen 
Great Britain had sent into Parliament. 

This novel is slightly different from the other books by 
the same author. It is the only one in which the incidents 
are stronger than the characters, where they show what 
they are by their acts, rather than by what they say. The 
background of the story is the French Revolution, and the 
author keeps close to the facts as he had studied them in 
Carlyle’s famous history of that period. When Dickens 
asked Carlyle to send him one of the books to which he had 
referred in his French Revolution , Carlyle sent a wagon 
load of books to Gadshill. Many of these Dickens studied 
very faithfully, as his novel shows. It is purposely dram¬ 
atic, for Dickens expected it to be made into a real play. 
Since its publication, four stage versions have been made 
and used successfully. 

Suggestions for Themes and Precis Writing 

1. Write one paragraph on the life of Charles Dickens, of 
two hundred words, describing his home life, education, work, 
and books in general. 

2. Prepare an oral composition on three events during the 
time of Dickens. 

3. Prepare an oral composition on three contemporaries of 
Dickens, telling for what reason each one is well remembered. 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHARACTERS 

Dr. Manette, French, prisoner in the Bastille 

Lucie Manette, his daughter 

Madame Manette, English, his wife 

Mr. Lorry, English, bank clerk in Paris and London 

Miss Pross, English, Lucie Manette’s maid 

Ernest Defarge, French, wine seller in Paris 

Madame Defarge, French, his wife 

Charles Darn ay, French (Charles Evremonde, a French 
noble) 

Sydney Carton, English, a lawyer 
Stryver, English, a lawyer 
John Barsad (Solomon Pross ) English, a spy 
Roger Cly, English, a spy 

Jerry Cruncher, English, odd-job man at Tellson’s Bank 
(working secretly in digging up and selling dead bodies) 
Marquis St. Evremonde, French, uncle of Charles Darnay 
Gaspard, French, assassin of Marquis St. Evremonde 
Road mender, afterwards a wood-sawyer 
The Monseigneur at Court, who gives the reception 
Young Jerry Cruncher and His Mother, English 
The Vengeance, French 
Jacques One, Two, and Three 


BOOK I. RECALLED TO LIFE 


Time: 1757-1775 
Place: London and Paris 


CHAPTER I 
BURIED ALIVE 


The Period 


O NE evening, in the year 1757, a young man was walk¬ 
ing near the bank of the Seine in Paris when a car¬ 
riage came along behind him, driven very fast. As he 
stood aside to let the carriage pass, afraid that it might 
otherwise run him down, a head was put out the window, 
and a voice called to the driver to stop. 

The carriage stopped as soon as the driver could rein in 
his horses, and the same voice called to the young man by 
his name. He answered. The carriage was then so far in 
advance of him that two gentlemen had time to open the 
door and alight before he came up with it. He noticed that 
they were wrapped in cloaks and appeared to conceal them¬ 
selves. They were greatly alike in stature, manner, voice, 
and (as far as could be seen) face, too. 

“ You are Doctor Manette? ” said one. 

The young man replied that he was. 

“ Doctor Manette, formerly of Beauvais? ” said the other; 
“ the young physician, an expert surgeon, who, within the 
last year or two, has made a rising reputation in Paris ?” 

“ I am that Doctor Manette, of whom you speak so 
graciously.” 


1 


2 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ We have been to your residence,” said the first, “ and 
not being so fortunate as to find you there, and being in¬ 
formed that you were probably walking in this direction, we 
followed in the hope of overtaking you. Will you please 
to enter the carriage? ” 

The manner of both was imperious, and they both moved, 
as these words were spoken, so as to place the young doctor 
between themselves and the carriage door. They were 
armed. He was not. 

“ Gentlemen, pardon me, but I usually inquire the name 
of those who seek my assistance, and the nature of the case 
to which I am summoned.” 

The reply to this was made by him who had spoken 
second. 

“ Doctor, your clients are people of high condition. As 
to the nature of the case, our confidence in your skill 
assures us that you will ascertain it for yourself better 
than we can describe it. — Will you please to enter the 
carriage? ” 

He could do nothing but comply, and he entered it in 
silence. They both entered after him. The carriage turned 
about and drove on at its former speed. 

After a time it passed the North Barrier, and emerged 
upon the country road. About two miles farther on, they 
stopped at a solitary house. All three alighted and walked 
by a damp soft footpath, in a garden where a neglected 
fountain had overflowed, to the door of a large house. It 
was not opened immediately in answer to the ringing of the 
bell, and one of the two men struck the man who opened it 
with his heavy riding glove, across the face. 

There was nothing in this action to attract particular at¬ 
tention, for common people were struck more commonly 
than dogs. But the other of the two men, being angry like¬ 
wise, struck the man in like manner with his arm; the look 



RECALLED TO LIFE 3 

and bearing of the brothers were then so exactly alike that 
it was very evident they were twin brothers. 

From the time of alighting at the outer gate (which was 
locked, and which one of the brothers had opened and re¬ 
locked) cries were heard, proceeding from an upper room in 
the house. To this room Doctor Manette was conducted 
straight, the cries growing louder and louder as they as¬ 
cended the stairs. The patient was in a high fever of the 
brain lying on a bed. 

The patient was a woman of great beauty, and young, 
not much past twenty. Her hair was torn and ragged, and 
her arms were bound to her sides with sashes and handker¬ 
chiefs. These bonds were all portions of a gentleman’s 
dress. On one of them, which was a fringed scarf for a dress 
of ceremony, were armorial bearings of a noble, and the 
letter E. 

Doctor Manette saw this, within the first minute of his 
contemplation of the patient; for in her restless strivings 
she had turned over on her face on the edge of the bed, had 
drawn the end of the scarf into her mouth, and was in dan¬ 
ger of suffocation. His first act was to put out his hand to 
relieve her breathing, and in moving the scarf aside, the 
embroidery in the corner caught his sight. 

He turned her gently over, placed his hands upon her 
breast to calm her and keep her down, and looked into her 
face. Her eyes were dilated and wild, and she constantly 
uttered piercing shrieks, and repeated the words, “ My hus¬ 
band, my father, and my brother! ” and then counted up to 
twelve, and said, “ Hush! ” For an instant, and no more, 
she would pause to listen, and then the piercing shrieks 
would begin again, and she would repeat the cry, “ My 
husband, my father, and my brother! ” and would count 
up to twelve, and say, “ Hush! ” There was no varia¬ 
tion in the order, or the manner. There was no cessation 


4 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

but the regular moment’s pause, in the utterance of these 
sounds. 

“ How long,” asked the Doctor, “ has this lasted? ” 

To distinguish the brothers, the one who exercised the 
greatest authority will be called the elder. It was the elder 
who replied. 

“ Since about this time last night.” 

“ She has a husband, a father, and a brother ? ” 

“ A brother.” 

“ I do not address her brother? ” 

He answered with great contempt, “ No.” 

“ She has some recent association with the number 
twelve? ” 

The younger brother impatiently answered, “ With 
twelve o’clock.” 

“ See, gentlemen, how useless I am, as you have brought 
me. If I had known what I was coming to see, I could have 
come provided. As it is, time must be lost. There are no 
medicines to be obtained in this lonely place.” 

The elder brother looked to the younger, who said haugh¬ 
tily, “ There is a case of medicines here,” and brought it from 
a closet and put it on the table. 

The Doctor opened some of the bottles, smelt them, and 
put the stoppers to his lips. They were all narcotic medi¬ 
cines, poisons in themselves. 

“ Do you doubt them? ” asked the younger brother. 

“ You see, monsieur, I am going to use them.” 

He made the patient swallow, with great difficulty, and 
after many efforts, the dose that was required. As he in¬ 
tended to repeat it after a while, and as it was necessary to 
watch its influence, he sat down by the side of the bed. 

There was a timid and suppressed woman in attendance 
(wife of the man downstairs) who had retreated into a 
corner. The house was damp and decayed, poorly fur- 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


5 


nished, evidently recently occupied and temporarily used. 
Some thick old hangings had been nailed up before the win¬ 
dows to deaden the sound of the shrieks. They continued 
to be uttered in their regular succession, with the cry, “ My 
husband, my father, and my brother! ” the counting up to 
twelve, and “ Hush! ” 

The frenzy was so violent that the Doctor had not un¬ 
fastened the bandages restraining the arms; but he had 
looked to them, to see that they were not painful. The only 
spark of encouragement in the case was that his hand upon 
the sufferer’s breast had this much soothing influence, that 
for minutes at a time it quieted the figure. It had no effect 
upon the cries. No pendulum could be more regular. 

For the reason that his hand had this effect, he sat by the 
side of the bed for half an hour, with the two brothers look¬ 
ing on, before the elder said, “ There is another patient.” 

The Doctor was startled and asked, “Is it a pressing 
case? ” 

“ You had better see,” the elder brother carelessly an¬ 
swered, and took up a light. 

The other patient lay in a back room far to the rear 
which was a specie of loft over a stable. On some hay on 
the ground, with a cushion thrown under his head, lay a 
handsome peasant boy, not more than seventeen. He lay 
on his back, with his teeth set, his right hand clenched on 
his breast, and his glaring eyes looking straight upward. 

As the Doctor kneeled down over him, he could not see 
where the wound was, but he could see that the boy was 
dying of a wound from a sharp point. 

“ I am a doctor, my poor fellow. Let me examine it.” 

“ I do not want it examined. Let it be.” 

It was under his hand, and the Doctor soothed him to let 
him move his hand away. The wound was a sword thrust, 
received from twenty to twenty-four hours before, but no 


6 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


skill could have saved him if it had been looked to without 
delay. He was then dying fast. As the Doctor turned his 
eyes to the elder brother, he saw him looking down at this 
handsome boy, whose life was-ebbing out, as if he were a 
wounded bird, or a rabbit; not at all as if he were a fellow 
creature. 

“ How has this been done, monsieur ? ” 

“A crazed young common dog! A serf! Forced my 
brother to draw upon him, and has fallen by my brother’s 
sword — like a gentleman.” 

The boy’s eyes had slowly moved to him, as he had 
spoken, and they now moved slowly to the Doctor. 

“ Doctor, they are very proud, these nobles; but we com¬ 
mon dogs are proud too, sometimes. They plunder us, out¬ 
rage us, beat us, kill us; but we have a little pride left, 
sometimes. She — have you seen her, Doctor? ” 

The shrieks and the cries were audible there, though sub¬ 
dued by the distance. He referred to them as if she were 
lying in their presence. 

“ I have seen her.” 

“ She is my sister, Doctor. They have had their shame¬ 
ful rights, these nobles, dn the modesty and virtue of our 
sisters many years, but we have had good girls among us. 
I know it, and have heard my father say so. She was a 
good girl. She was betrothed to a good young man, too, a 
tenant of his. We were all tenants of his — that man who 
stands there. The other is his brother, the worst of a bad 
race.” 

It was with the greatest difficulty that the boy gathered 
bodily force to speak, but his spirit spoke with a dreadful 
emphasis. 

“We were so robbed by that man who stands there, as 
all we common dogs are by those superior Beings — taxed 
by him without mercy; obliged to work for him without 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


7 


pay; obliged to grind our corn at his mill; obliged to feed 
scores of his tame birds on our wretched crops, and for¬ 
bidden for our lives to keep a single tame bird of our own; 
pillaged and plundered to that degree that, when we 
chanced to have a bit of meat, we ate it in fear with the door 
barred and the shutters closed that his people should not 
see it and take it away from us. — I say, we were so robbed 
and hunted that my father said it was a terrible thing for 
children to be born into such a world, and that we ought 
to hope our miserable race would die out! Neverthe¬ 
less, Doctor, my sister married. He was ailing at that 
time, poor fellow, and she married her lover, that she 
might tend and comfort him in our cottage — our dog- 
hut, as that man would call it. She had not been married 
many weeks when that man’s brother saw her and ad¬ 
mired her, and asked that man to lend her to him for a 
time. He was willing enough to do this, but my sister 
was good and virtuous, and hated his brother with a 
hatred as strong as mine. What did the two then, to 
persuade her husband to use his influence with her to make 
her willing? ” 

The boy’s eyes, which had been fixed on the Doctor, 
slowly turned to the looker-on, and the Doctor saw in the 
two faces that all the boy said was true. 

“ You know, Doctor, that it is among the Rights of these 
nobles to harness us common dogs to carts, and drive us. 
They so harnessed my sister’s husband, and drove him. 
You know that it is among their Rights to keep us in their 
grounds all night, quieting the frogs, in order that their 
noble sleep may not be disturbed. After driving her hus¬ 
band all day, they kept him out in the unwholesome mists 
at night, and ordered him back into his harness in the day. 
But this did not persuade him to let them take his wife. 
No! Taken out of his harness one day at noon, to feed — 


8 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

if he.could find food— he~ sobbed twelve times, once for 
every stroke of the bell, lind died on her bosom.” 

Nothing human could have held life in the boy but his 
determination to tell all his wrongs. He forced back the 
gathering shadows of death, as he forced his clenched right 
hand to remain clenched, and to cover his wound. 

“ Then, with that man’s permission, and even with his 
aid, his brother took her away. His brother took her away 
— for his pleasure and diversion for a little while. I saw 
her pass me on the road. When I took the tidings home, my 
father’s heart burst; he never spoke one of the words that 
filled it. I took my young sister (for I have another) to a 
place beyond the reach of this man, and where, at least, 
she will never be his vassal. Then I tracked the brother 
here, and last night, climbed in — a common dog, but 
sword in hand. — Where is the loft window ? It was some¬ 
where here.” 

The room was darkening to his sight; the world was nar¬ 
rowing round him. The doctor glanced about him, and saw 
that the hay and straw were trampled over the floor, as if 
there had been a struggle. 

“ She heard me and ran in. I told her not to come near 
us till he was dead. He came in and first tossed me some 
pieces of money; then struck at me with a whip. But I, 
though a common dog, so struck at him as to make him 
draw his sword. Let him break it into as many pieces as he 
will, the sword that he stained with my common blood he 
drew to defend himself — thrust at me with all his skill for 
his life.” 

The Doctor’s glance had fallen, but a few moments before, 
on the fragments of a broken sword, lying among the hay. 
That weapon was a gentleman’s. In another place lay an 
old sword that seemed to have been a soldier’s. 

“ Now, lift me up, Doctor; lift me up. Where is he? ” 


I mark this cross of blood upon him as a sign that I do it. 

































































10 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ He is not here,” said the Doctor, supporting the boy, 
and thinking that he referred to the other brother. 

“He! Proud as these nobles are, he is afraid to see me. 
Where is the man who was here? Turn my face to him.” 

The Doctor did so, raising the boy’s head against his 
knee. But, invested for the moment with extraordinary 
power, he raised himself completely, obliging the Doctor to 
rise, too, or he could not have still supported him. 

“ Marquis,” said the boy, turned to him, with his eyes 
opened wide and his right hand raised, “ in the days when 
all these things are to be answered for, I summon you and 
yours, to the last of your bad race, to answer for them. I 
mark this cross of blood upon you, as a sign that I do it. 
In the days when all these things are to be answered for, I 
summon your brother the worst of a bad race, to answer 
for them separately. I mark this cross of blood upon him 
as a sign that I do it.” 

Twice he put his hand to the wound in his breast, and 
with his forefinger drew a cross in the air. He stood for an 
instant with the finger yet raised, and as it dropped, he 
dropped with it, and the Doctor laid him down dead. . . . 

When he returned to the bedside of the young woman, he 
found her raving in the same manner. He knew that this 
might last for many hours and that it would probably end 
in the silence of the grave. She never abated the quality of 
her shrieks, never stumbled in the distinctness or the order 
of her words. They were always, “ My husband, my father, 
and my brother! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, 
eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, hush! ” 

This lasted twenty-six hours from the time when Doctor 
Manette first saw her. He had come and gone twice, and 
was again sitting by her when she began to falter. He did 
what little could be done, and by and by she sank into a 
lethargy, and lay like the dead. It was as if the wind and 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


11 


rain had lulled at last, after a long and fearful storm. The 
Doctor released her arms, and called the woman to assist 
him to compose her figure. 

“ Is she dead? ” asked the Marquis, described as the elder 
brother, coming booted into the room from his horse. 

“ Not dead, but like to die.” 

“ What strength there is in these common bodies,” he 
said, looking down at her with some curiosity. 

“ There is prodigious strength in sorrow and despair,” 
answered the Doctor. 

The Marquis first laughed at these words and then 
frowned. 

He moved a chair with his foot near to the Doctor, or¬ 
dered the woman away, and said in a subdued voice: 

“ Doctor, finding my brother in this difficulty with these 
hinds, I recommended that your aid should be invited. 
Your reputation is high, and as a young man with your for¬ 
tune to make, you are probably mindful of your interest. 
The things that you see here are things to be seen, and not 
spoken of.” 

Doctor Manette listened to the patient’s breathing and 
avoided answering. 

“ Do you honor me with your attention, Doctor? ” 

“ Monsieur, in my profession the communications of pa¬ 
tients are always received in confidence.” 

He was guarded in his answer, for he was troubled in his 
mind with what he had heard and seen. 

Her breathing was so difficult to trace that the Doctor 
carefully tried the pulse and heart. There was life, and 
no more. Looking round as he resumed his seat, he found 
both the brothers intent upon him. She lingered for a week. 

Towards the last he could understand some few syllables 
she said to him by placing his ear close to her lips. She 
asked him where she was, and he told her; who he was, and 


12 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


he told her. It was in vain that he asked her for her family 
name. She faintly shook her head upon the pillow and 
kept her secret, as the boy had done. 

Doctor Manette was alone with his patient when her for¬ 
lorn young head drooped gently on one side, and all her 
earthly wrongs and sorrows ended. 

The brothers were waiting in a room downstairs, impa¬ 
tient to ride away. He had heard them, striking their boots 
with their riding whips, and loitering up and down. 

“At last she is dead?” said the elder, as the Doctor 
entered. 

“ She is dead.” 

“ I congratulate you, my brother,” he said as he turned 
around. 

He had offered the Doctor money which he had postponed 
taking. He now gave him a roll of gold money, which the 
Doctor took but laid upon the table, saying, 

“ Please excuse me. Under the circumstances, no.” 

The brothers exchanged looks with each other, but bent 
their heads to him as the Doctor bent his to them, and 
they parted without another word on either side. 

Early in the morning the roll of gold was left at the Doc¬ 
tor’s door in a little box, with his name on the outside. 
From the first he had anxiously considered what he ought 
to do. He decided to write privately to the Ministry of 
France, stating the nature of the two cases to which he 
had been summoned. He knew what Court influence was, 
and what the immunities of the nobles were, and he ex¬ 
pected that the matter would never be heard of, but he 
wished to relieve his own mind. He had kept the matter 
a profound secret, even from his wife, and this, too, he 
resolved to state in his letter. 

He was much engaged that day and could not complete 
his letter that night. He rose long before his usual time 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


13 


next morning to finish it. The letter was lying before him 
just completed when he was told that a lady waited who 
wished to see him. 

The lady was young, engaging, and handsome, but not 
marked for long life. She was in great agitation. She pre¬ 
sented herself as the wife of the Marquis St. Evremonde. 
Doctor Manette connected the title by which the boy had 
addressed the elder brother, with the initial letter embroid¬ 
ered on the scarf, and had no difficulty in arriving at the 
conclusion that he had seen that nobleman very lately. 

She had in part suspected, and in part discovered, the 
main facts of the cruel story; of her husband’s share of it, 
and of the doctor being resorted to. She did not know 
that the girl was dead. Her hope had been, she said in 
great distress, to show her, in secret, a woman’s sympathy. 
Her hope had been to avert the wrath of Heaven from a 
house that had long been hateful to the suffering many. 

She had reasons for believing that there was a young 
sister living, and her greatest desire was to help that sister. 
Doctor Manette could tell her nothing but that there was 
such a sister. Beyond that he knew no more. Her induce¬ 
ment to come to him, relying on his confidence, had been 
the hope that he could tell her the name and place of abode, 
but he could not give her any of the information she 
desired. 

She was a good compassionate lady, and not happy in her 
marriage. How could she be? The brother disliked her, 
and his influence was all opposed to her. She stood in dread 
of him, and in dread of her husband, too. 

When Doctor Manette took her down to the door, he saw 
a pretty boy about three years old in her carriage. 

“ For his sake, Doctor,” she said, pointing to him in 
tears, “ I would do all I can to make what poor amends I 
can. He will never prosper in his inheritance otherwise. I 


14 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


have a presentiment that, if no other innocent atonement is 
made for this, it will one day be required of him. What I 
have left to call my own — it is little beyond the worth of 
a few jewels, — I will make it the first charge of his life 
to bestow, with the compassion of his dead mother, on the 
injured family, if the sister can be discovered.” 

She kissed the boy, and said, caressing him, “ It is for 
your own dear sake. You will be faithful, little Charles? ” 

The child answered her bravely, “ Yes.” 

She took the little boy in her arms, and went away caress¬ 
ing him. Doctor Manette never saw her again. He sealed 
the letter, and not trusting it out of his own hands, de¬ 
livered it himself, that day. 

That night, towards nine o’clock, a man in a black dress 
rang at his gate, demanded to see the Doctor, and softly fol¬ 
lowed his servant, a boy about twelve years old, Ernest 
Defarge, upstairs. When Ernest Defarge came into the room 
where the Doctor sat with his fair young English wife, they 
saw the messenger who was supposed to be at the gate, 
standing silent behind him. There was a very urgent case 
of sickness in the Rue St. Honore. It would not detain the 
Doctor long. There was a coach in waiting. His wife did 
not want him to go. She seemed to feel that he would be 
in danger. But he was not afraid of any harm and followed 
the messenger. 

As soon as the Doctor was a little way from the house, a 
black muffler was suddenly drawn tightly over his mouth 
from behind, and his arms were pinioned. The two brothers 
crossed the street from a dark corner and identified him 
with a single gesture. The Marquis took from his pocket 
the letter Doctor Manette had written, showed it to him, 
burnt it in the light of a lantern that was held, and extin¬ 
guished the ashes with his foot. Not a word was spoken. 
The coach took Doctor Manette to the Bastille. It was like 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


15 


putting him into a grave. He was placed in a cell in secret, 
with no accusation against him, and with no trial. He was 
put in so secretly that no one knew what had become of 
him. He could not have any communication outside the 
prison, and no one outside knew where he was, except his 
enemies who always kept it secret. It was just as if Doctor 
Manette was put into an unknown grave. The Bastille was, 
to him, a living tomb. He was like one buried alive. 


CHAPTER II 
RECALLED TO LIFE 
Foreword 

M ADAME MANETTE, the young English wife of 
the French Doctor, tried every possible way to locate 
her husband, but without success. No one seemed to know 
how he had disappeared. She appealed to the Court, to the 
King, to the Queen, to help her to find her husband, or to 
learn what had happened to him, but she never obtained 
the slightest news. Tellson’s Bank in Paris, which had 
charge of Doctor Manette’s affairs, also tried very hard to 
discover what had happened to their missing client. One 
clerk in the bank had been a great friend of Doctor Man¬ 
ette, and he worked for a long time searching constantly 
for information about his friend’s mysterious disappearance, 
but he never found the slightest clue. It seemed as if the 
earth had opened and swallowed the brilliant young Doctor 
without leaving the slightest mark near the place of 
vanishing. 

Two or three months after this terrible event the little 
child of Doctor Manette and his wife was born, little Lucie 
Manette. But the mother made up her mind that the child 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


16 

should never know about her father’s mysterious disappear¬ 
ance; she should be brought up with the idea that he was 
dead. Then the little girl would never in any way know 
the sorrows of her mother. When she was three years old, 
her mother died; but she made arrangements, just before 
her death, to have little Lucie taken over to London and 
brought up among her own people. This last wish of the 
desolate wife was fulfilled by the clerk in Tellson’s Bank, 
who had been a friend of her husband’s and had helped so 
diligently in hunting for him. It happened at this time 
that this clerk was going over to London anyway, for he 
had been transferred from Tellson’s Bank in Paris to Tell¬ 
son’s Bank in London, where he had originally worked, be¬ 
ing an Englishman. Mr. Jarvis Lorry, the clerk, with great 
consideration, placed little Lucie in her London home, but 
he did not see her again for nearly fifteen years. 

In 1775, for some unaccountable reason, Doctor Manette 
was released from his imprisonment in the Bastille, but he 
was a mental and physical wreck. His former servant, 
Ernest Defarge, who had always loved Doctor Manette 
most devotedly, was now a wine merchant in the St. Antoine 
suburb of Paris. He took his old master to his home to care 
for him, but he was told that he must ask no questions and 
must allow no comments to be made concerning the long 
disappearance of the Doctor. It was hinted that any one 
doing this would be in danger of a similar imprisonment. 
The Doctor was in such a weak state of mind that he did 
not even know who he was any longer. When asked his 
name he would answer, “ One-hundred-five, North Tower,” 
giving the number of his cell in the Bastille. 

Tellson’s Bank in Paris wanted to be sure that their old 
client had really come to life again, so Mr. Lorry was re¬ 
quested to come from London to see if he could identify the 
physical and mental wreck as the famous young physician 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


17 


and surgeon, Doctor Manette. After Mr. Lorry had started 
from London a message was sent after him from the bank 
telling him that Lucie Manette, now almost eighteen years 
old, was going with him, and asking him to wait for her at 
Dover. At first he had been told that he would meet Lucie 
Manette in Tellson’s Bank in Paris, where he was to pre¬ 
pare her for the recovery of her father. When the message 
was brought to him on his way to Dover, Mr. Lorry knew 
that it would be in that town where he would have to tell 
Lucie Manette that her father was not dead, as she had 
always believed, but had been confined secretly for seven¬ 
teen years in the Bastille prison. 

The Dover Mail stagecoach lumbered up Shooter’s Hill 
about eight miles southeast of London. Mr. Lorry walked 
uphill in the mire, as the two other passengers did; not 
because they had the least desire for walking exercise, under 
the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, 
and the mud, and the mail were all so heavy that the horses 
had three times already come to a stop. With drooping 
heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through 
the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, 
as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. There 
was a steaming mist in all the hollows, dense enough to shut 
out everything from the light of the coach lamps, but a few 
yards of road. All the three passengers, who plodded up 
the hill, were wrapped to the cheek bones, and wore boots 
reaching above the knee. Not one of the three could have 
said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two 
was like. 

“ Wo-ho,” said the coachman, “ so, then, one more pull 
and you’re at the top. I’ve had trouble enough to get you 
to it. Joe! ” 

“ Hulloa,” the guard replied. 


18 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ What o’clock do you make it, Joe? ” 

“ Ten minutes past eleven.” 

“ My blood, and not atop of Shooter’s yet. Tst! yah! 
get on with you! ” 

Once more the Dover Mail struggled on, with the boots 
of its passengers squashing along by its side. They stopped 
whenever the coach stopped, and kept close company with 
it. If any one of the three had proposed to another to walk 
on a little ahead, into the mist and darkness, he would have 
put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a high¬ 
wayman. 

The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. 
The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got 
down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the door 
to let the passengers in. 

“Tst, Joe! ” cried the coachman, in a warning voice, 
looking down from his box. 

“ What do you say, Tom? ” asked the guard. 

“ I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.” 

“ I say a horse at a gallop, Tom,” returned the guard, 
leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his 
place. “ Gentlemen, in the king’s name, all of you.” He 
cocked his big old-fashioned gun, capable of holding a num¬ 
ber of balls, and stood on the offensive. 

The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously 
up the hill. 

“ So-ho! ” the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar, 
“ Yo, there! Stand: I shall fire.” 

The pace was suddenly checked, and with much splash¬ 
ing and floundering a man’s voice called from the mist, “ Is 
that the Dover Mail? ” 

“ Never you mind what it is,” the guard retorted. 
“ What are you? ” 

“Is that the Dover Mail? ” 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


19 


“ Why do you want to know ? ” 

“ I want a passenger, if it is.” 

“ What passenger ? ” 

“ Mr. Jarvis Lorry.” 

Mr. Lorry showed in a moment that it was his name. 
The guard, the coachman, and the other two passengers 
eyed him distrustfully. 

“ Keep where you are,” the guard called to the voice in 
the darkness, “ because, if I should make a mistake, it 
could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of 
the name of Lorry answer straight.” 

“ What is the matter? ” asked this passenger, then, with 
mildly quavering voice. “Who wants me? Is it Jerry?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Lorry.” 

“ What is the matter? ” 

“A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and 
Co.” 

“ I know this messenger, guard,” said Mr. Lorry, getting 
down into the road from the stage — assisted from behind 
more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who 
immediately shut the door, and pulled up the window. 
“ He may come close; there’s nothing wrong.” 

“ I hope there ain’t, but I can’t make so ’nation sure of 
that,” said the guard. “Hallo you! ” 

“ Well! and hallo you! ” said Jerry in a hoarse voice. 

“ Come on at a footpace! d’ye mind me ? And if you’ve 
got guns to that saddle o’ yourn, don’t let me see your hand 
go nigh ’em. For I’m a devil at a quick mistake, and when 
I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let’s look at 
you.” 

The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the 
eddying mist and came to the side of the mail, where Mr. 
Lorry stood. The rider stooped and handed him a small 
folded paper. 


20 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Guard,” said Mr. Lorry, in a tone of quiet business 
confidence. 

The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of 
his raised gun, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the 
horseman, answered curtly, “ Sir.” 

“ There is nothing to be afraid of. I belong to Tellson’s 
Bank. You must know Tellson’s Bank of London. I am 
going to Paris on business. I may read this message? ” 

“ If so be as you’re quick, sir.” 

He opened the paper in the light of the coach lamp and 
read, first to himself, and then aloud, 

“ Wait at Dover for Mam’selle.” 

“ It’s not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer 
was, Recalled to life” 

Jerry started in his saddle. “ That’s a blazing strange 
answer, too,” he said, in his hoarsest voice. 

“ Take that answer back, and they will know that I re¬ 
ceived this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your 
way. Good night.” 

With those words this passenger opened the coach door 
and got in, not at all assisted by his fellow passengers, who 
had secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and 
were now making a pretence of being asleep. 

The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of 
mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard 
soon replaced his gun in the arm chest. 

“ Tom,” softly over the coach roof. 

“ Hulloa, Joe.” 

“ Did you hear the message, Tom? ” 

“ I did, Joe.” 

“ What did you make of it, Tom? ” 

“ Nothing at all, Joe.” 

“ That’s a coincidence, too,” the guard mused, “ for I 
made the same of it myself.” 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


21 


Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted, 
not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from 
his face, and shake the wet out of his hat brim, which might 
be capable of holding about half a gallon. After standing 
with the bridle over his heavily splashed arm, until the 
wheels of the Mail were no longer within hearing, he turned 
to walk down the hill. His eight-mile ride had been all the 
way from Temple Bar, a famous London gateway near 
Tellson’s Bank where Jerry worked as a porter. But he 
had a secret employment which none of the bank people 
ever suspected. For some time he had been making money 
on the side by digging up dead bodies just after they had 
been buried in the cemeteries, and selling them to surgeons 
and doctors for scientific dissection. People guilty of this 
infamous crime, who would receive a severe punishment if 
detected, were often called “ body-snatchers,” or “ resur¬ 
rection men.” 1 On account of sometimes being engaged 
in such work, Jerry naturally was very much startled by the 
message, “ Recalled to life.” 

“ After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I 
won’t trust your forelegs till I get you on the level,” said 
this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare, as he walked 
down the hill. 

“ ‘ Recalled to life/ That’s a blazing strange message. 
Much of that wouldn’t do for you, Jerry. I say, Jerry, 
you’d be in a blazing bad way if recalling to life was to come 
into fashion.” 

The Mail Coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped 

1 In Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer there isxan example of “body- 
snatching ” by “resurrection men.” A young doctor in the little 
town, wanting to get a body for dissection, hired two men to go out 
with him to a cemetery to dig up a body that had just been buried 
that afternoon. The incident turned out to be a terrible tragedy in 
that ghostly cemetery at midnight, where Tom Sawyer and Huckle¬ 
berry Finn were silent witnesses. 


22 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


upon its tedious way, with its three fellow passengers inside. 
It was a long tiresome journey, and they dropped off to 
sleep now and then. The bank messenger, Mr. Lorry, with 
an arm drawn through the leather strap, nodded in his 
place. It seemed to him that he was on his way to dig 
some one out of a grave. The one to be taken out appeared 
to have the face of a man about forty-five years old. A 
hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this 
spectre: 

“ Buried how long? ” 

“ Almost eighteen years.” 

“ You had abandoned all hope of being dug out? ” 

“ Long ago.” 

“ You know that you are recalled to life? ” 

“ They tell me so.” 

“ I hope you care to live? ” 

“ I can’t say.” 

“ Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her? ” 

The answers to this question were various and contra¬ 
dictory. Sometimes the broken reply was, “ Wait, it would 
kill me if I saw her too soon.” Sometimes it was given in a 
tender rain of tears, and then it was, “ Take me to her.” 
Sometimes it was bewildered, and then it was, “ I don’t 
know her; I don’t understand.” 

After much imaginary discourse, the passenger, Mr. 
Lorry, in his fancy, would dig and dig and dig — now with a 
spade, now with a great key, now with his hands — to dig 
this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth 
hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fall 
away to dust. 

Finally the shadows of the night were gone. Mr. Lorry 
lowered the window and looked out at the rising sun. 
Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and 
the sun rose bright, placid and beautiful. 


RECALLED TO LIFE 23 

“ Eighteen years! Gracious Creator of day! To be 
buried alive for eighteen years! ” 

When the Mail reached Dover in the forenoon, the head 
waiter at the Royal George Hotel opened the door of the 
stage with a flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey from 
London in winter was a great achievement. By that time 
there was only one traveler left, for the other two had 
been set down at their respective destinations. The mildew, 
inside the coach, with its damp and dirty straw, its 
disagreeable smell, and its obscurity, was rather like 
a larger dog kennel. Mr. Lorry, shaking himself out 
of it, in chains of straw, a tangle of shaggy wrapper, 
flapping hat, and muddy legs, was rather like a larger 
sort of dog. 

“ There will be a boat to Calais, tomorrow, waiter ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, if the weather holds, and the wind sets toler¬ 
able fair. The tide will serve pretty nicely about two in the 
afternoon, sir. Bed, sir ? ” 

“ I shall not go to bed till night; but I want a bedroom 
and a barber, and then breakfast.” 

“And then breakfast, sir. Yes, sir. That way, sir, if 
you please. Show the gentleman to the Concord bedroom. 
Gentleman’s valise and hot water to Concord. Pull off gen¬ 
tleman’s boots in Concord. (You will find a fine sea-coal 
fire, sir.) Fetch barber to Concord. Stir about there, now, 
for Concord.” 

The Concord bedchamber was always given to passen¬ 
gers by the mail. These were always wrapped up heavily 
from hgad to foot so that the room had the odd interest 
that, although but one kind of man was seen to go into it, 
all kinds and varieties of men came out of it. Consequently, 
another waiter, two porters, several maids and the landlady 
were loitering around between the Concord room and the 
coffee-room, when a gentleman of sixty, formally dressed 


24 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

in a brown suit of clothes, passed along on his way to 
breakfast. 

The coffee-room had no other occupant than the gentle¬ 
man in brown. His breakfast-table was drawn before the 
fire, and as he sat waiting for his meal he looked very or¬ 
derly and methodical. His brown stockings fitted sleek and 
close, and were of a fine texture. His shoes and buckles, 
too, though plain, were trim. He wore an odd little flaxen 
wig which looked like silk or spun glass. His linen was as 
white as the tops of the waves that broke upon the beach, 
or the specks of sail that glinted in the sunlight far at sea. 


The Preparation 

He had a healthy color in his cheeks, and his face was 
very cheerful and pleasant. Having been in the stage coach 
all night, he was very tired and had just dropped off to 
sleep, when the arrival of his breakfast roused him, and he 
said to the waiter, 

“ I wish accommodation prepared for a young lady who 
may come here at any time today. She may ask for Mr. 
Jarvis Lorry, or she may only ask for a gentleman from 
Tellson’s Bank. Please to let me know.” 

“ Yes, sir. Tellson’s Bank in London? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Yes, sir. We have often the honor to entertain your 
gentlemen in their traveling backwards and forwards be¬ 
tween London and Paris. A vast deal of traveling in Tellson 
and Company’s house.” 

“ Yes > we are quite a French house, as well as an English 
one.” 

Yes, sir. Not much in the habit of such traveling 
yourself, I think, sir? ” 


RECALLED TO LIFE 25 

“ Not of late years. It is fifteen years since we — since I 
— came last from France.” 

“ Indeed, sir ? That was before my time here. Before 
our people’s time here, sir. The George was in other hands 
at that time.” 

“ I believe so.” 

“ But I would hold a pretty wager, sir, that a house like 
Tellson and Company was flourishing a matter of fifty, not 
to speak of fifteen years ago ? ” 

“ You might say a hundred and fifty, yet not be far from 
the truth.” 

“ Indeed, sir! ” 

When Mr. Lorry had finished his breakfast, he went out 
for a stroll on the beach. The little narrow, crooked town 
of Dover hid itself away from the beach and ran its head 
into the chalk cliffs, like a marine ostrich. The beach was 
a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about, 
and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was de¬ 
struction. It thundered at the town, and thundered at the 
cliffs, and brought the coast down madly. 

As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which 
had been clear enough at intervals to allow the French 
coast to be seen, became again charged with mist and vapor, 
Mr. Lorry’s thoughts seemed to cloud, too. When it was 
dark, and he sat before the coffee-room fire, awaiting his 
dinner, his mind was busily digging, digging, digging, in the 
live red coals. He had just finished his dinner when a rattling 
of wheels came up the narrow street and rumbled into the 
inn-yard. 

“ This is Mam’selle! ” he said. 

In a very few minutes the waiter came in to announce 
that Miss Manette had arrived from London and would be 
happy to see the gentleman from Tellson’s. She had taken 
some refreshment on the road and required none then. She 


26 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from Tell son’s 
immediately, if it suited his pleasure and convenience. 

She was waiting in the apartment provided for her, stand¬ 
ing by a very old dark table. She was in her riding cloak, 
and held her straw traveling hat by its ribbon in her hand. 

As Mr. Lorry’s eyes rested on a slight pretty figure, with 
a great quantity of golden hair that fell in curls about a 
sweet face, with a pair of blue eyes that met his own with 
an enquiring look, a sudden vivid likeness passed before 
him, of a child whom he had held in his arms on the pas¬ 
sage across that very channel, one cold time, when the hail 
drifted heavily, and the sea ran high. 

* “ Please take a seat, sir.” In a very clear and pleasant 
young voice. 

“ I kiss your hand, miss,” said Mr. Lorry, with the man¬ 
ners of an earlier date, as he made a formal bow, and took 
his seat. 

“ I received a letter from the bank, sir, yesterday, inform¬ 
ing me that some intelligence — or discovery — ” 

“ The word is not material, miss; either word will do.” 

“ — respecting the small property of my poor father, 
whom I never saw — so long dead — ” 

Mr. Lorry moved in his chair, a troubled look in his eyes. 
“ — rendered it necessary that I should go to Paris, there 
to communicate with a gentleman of the bank, so good as to 
be sent to Paris for the purpose. I replied to the bank that, 
as it was considered necessary for me to go to France, I 
should esteem it highly if I might be permitted to place 
myself, during the journey, under that gentleman’s protec¬ 
tion. The gentleman had left London, but I think a mes¬ 
senger was sent after him to ask the favor of his waiting 
for me here.” 

“ I was happy to be entrusted with the charge. I shall 
be more happy to execute it,” said Mr. Lorry. 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


27 


“ I thank you, indeed. I thank you very gratefully. It 
was told me by the bank that the gentleman would explain 
to me the details of the business and that I must prepare 
myself to find them of a surprising nature. I have done my 
best to prepare myself, and I naturally have a strong and 
eager interest to know what they are.” 

“ Naturally, — yes, — I — ” answered Mr. Lorry. 

After a pause, he added, “ It is very difficult to begin. 
Miss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business 
charge to acquit myself of. In your reception of it, don’t 
heed me any more than if I was a speaking machine — 
truly, I am not much else. I will, with your leave, relate to 
you the story of one of our customers.” 

“ Story? ” 

“ Yes. In the banking business we usually call our con¬ 
nection our customers. He was a French gentleman, a sci¬ 
entific gentleman; a doctor of great acquirements.” 

“ Not of Beauvais? ” 

“ Why, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your 
father, the gentleman was of repute in Paris. I had the 
honor of knowing him there. Our relations were business 
relations, but confidential. I was at that time in our French 
house, and had been — oh — twenty years.” 

“ At that time — I may ask, at what time, sir? ” 

“ I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married an 
English lady — and I was one of the trustees. His affairs, 
like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and French 
families, were entirely in Tellson’s hands. In a similar way 
I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other for scores 
of our customers. These are mere business relations, miss. 
There is no friendship in them, no particular interest, noth¬ 
ing like sentiment. I have passed from one to another, in 
the course of my business life, just as I pass from one of 
our customers to another in the course of my business day. 


28 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

In short, I have no feelings. I am a mere machine. To go 
on — ” 

“But this is my father’s story; and I begin to think — 
that when I was left an orphan it was you who brought me 
to England. I am almost sure it was you.” 

Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly 
advanced to take his, and he put it with some ceremony to 
his lips. He then conducted the young lady to her chair 
again, and holding the chair back with his left hand, stood 
looking down into her face while she sat looking up into his. 
He seemed to be rather nervous, on account of the message 
he wished to convey, using his right hand by turns to rub 
his chin, pull his wig at the ears, or emphasize what he said. 

“ Miss Manette, it was I. And you will see how truly I 
spoke of myself just now, in saying I had no feelings, and 
that all the relations I hold with my fellow creatures are 
mere business relations, when you reflect that I have not 
seen you for fifteen years since the time when I brought you 
from France. No; you have been the ward of Tellson’s 
house since, and I have been busy with the other business of 
Tellson’s house since. Feelings! I have no time for them, 
no chance for them. I pass my whole life, miss, in turning 
an immense pecuniary Mangle. 

“ So far, miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of 
your regretted father. Now comes the difference. If your 
father had not died when he did — Don’t be frightened! 
How you start! ” 

She did, indeed, start. And she caught his wrist with 
both her hands. 

Mr. Lorry brought his left hand from the back of the 
chair to lay it on the fingers that clasped him in so violent 
a tremble, saying in a soothing tone: 

“ Pray control your agitation — a matter of business — . 
As I was saying — ” 


RECALLED TO LIFE 29 

Her look so discomposed him that he stopped, wandered, 
and began anew. 

“ As I was saying; if Monsieur Manette had not died; if 
he had suddenly and silently disappeared; if he had been 
spirited away; if it had not been difficult to guess to what 
dreadful place, though no art could trace him; if he had 
an enemy in some compatriot who could exercise a privilege 
that I in my own time have known the boldest people afraid 
to speak of in a whisper, across the water there; for in¬ 
stance, the privilege of getting a lettre de cachet from the 
government of France, which is an order to send any one to 
prison for any length of time, secretly, without any accusa¬ 
tion and without any trial; if his wife had implored the 
King, the Queen, the Court, the Clergy, for any tidings of 
her husband, and all quite in vain — then the history of 
your father would have been the history of this unfortunate 
gentleman, the Doctor of Beauvais.” 

“ I entreat you to tell me more.” 

“ I will. I am going to. You can bear it? ” 

“ I can bear anything but the uncertainty you leave me 
in at this moment.” 

“You speak collectedly, and you are collected. That’s 
right. Courage. Business. You have useful business.— 
Miss Manette, your mother took this course with you, that 
she wanted to spare her poor child her own suffering, by 
rearing her in the belief that her father was dead. And 
when she died, I believe broken-hearted, having never 
slackened her unavailing search for your father, she left 
you to grow up beautiful and happy, without the dark 
cloud upon you of living in uncertainty. There has been 
no new discovery of money, or of any other property. 
But — ” 

He felt his wrist held closer and he stopped. The expres¬ 
sion upon her face was one of pain and horror. 


30 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ But he has been — found. He is alive, greatly changed, 
though we will hope the best. He has been taken to the 
home of an old servant in Paris, and we are going there; I 
to identify him if I can; you to restore him to life, love, 
duty, rest, comfort.” 

A shiver ran through her frame, and she said in a low, 
distinct, awe-stricken tone, as if she were saying it in a 
dream: 

“ I am going to see his Ghost. It will be his Ghost — 
not him .” 

Mr. Lorry quietly chafed the hands that held his arm. 

“ There, there, there. See now; the best and worst are 
known to you now. You are well on your way to the poor 
wronged gentleman; and with a fair sea voyage and a fair 
land journey, you will be soon at his dear side.” 

She repeated in the same tone, sunk to a whisper: 

“ I have been free, I have been happy, yet his Ghost has 
never haunted me.” 

“ Only one thing more,” said Mr. Lorry, laying stress 
upon it as a means of enforcing her attention: “ He has 
been found under another name, his own long forgotten or 
long concealed. It would be worse than useless now to 
enquire which; worse than useless to seek to know whether 
he has been for years overlooked or always designedly held 
prisoner. It would be worse than useless to make any in¬ 
quiries, because it would be dangerous. Better not to men¬ 
tion the subject, anywhere or in any way, and to remove him 
— for a while, at all events — out of France. Even I, safe 
as an Englishman, and even Tellson’s, important as they 
are to French credit, avoid all naming of the matter. I 
carry about me not a scrap of writing openly referring to 
it. This is a secret service altogether. My credentials, 
entries, and memoranda are all comprehended in the one 
line, “ Recalled to life,” which may mean anything. But 


RECALLED TO LIFE 31 

what is the matter? She doesn’t notice a word. Miss 
Manette.” 

Perfectly still arid silent, and not even fallen back in her 
chair, she sat, holding his wrist, utterly insensible, with her 
eyes open and fixed upon him. So close was her hold upon 
his that he feared to detach himself lest he should hurt 
her. Therefore he called out loudly for assistance without 
moving. 

A wild-looking woman, whom even in his agitation Mr. 
Lorry observed to be all of a red color, to have red hair, 
and to have on her head a most wonderful bonnet, like a 
great Stilton cheese, came rushing into the room in advance 
of the inn servants, and soon settled the question of his 
detachment from the poor young lady, by laying a brawny 
hand upon his chest and sending him flying back against the 
nearest wall. 

(“ I really think this must be a man,” was Mr. Lorry’s 
reflection, as he came against the wall.) 

“ Why, look at you all,” bawled this figure, addressing the 
inn servants. “ Why don’t you go and fetch things, in¬ 
stead of standing there, staring at me? I am not so much 
to look at, am I? Why don’t you go and fetch things? I’ll 
let you know, if you don’t bring smelling salts, cold water, 
and vinegar, quick, I will.” 

There was an immediate dispersal for these,restoratives, 
and she softly laid the patient on a sofa, and tended her 
with great skill and gentleness, calling her “ my precious ” 
and “ my bird ” and spreading her golden hair aside over 
her shoulders with great pride and care. 

“ And you in brown,” turning indignantly to Mr. Lorry, 
“ couldn’t you tell her what you had to tell her, with¬ 
out frightening her to death? Look at her, with her pretty 
pale face and her cold hands. Do you call that being a 
banker?” 


32 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted by a question 
so hard to answer that he could only look on, at a distance, 
with much sympathy and humility, ’while the strong 
woman, having banished the inn servants, under the myste¬ 
rious penalty of letting them know something not men¬ 
tioned if they stayed there staring, recovered her charge by 
a regular series of gradations, and coaxed her to lay her 
drooping head upon her shoulder. This was Miss Pross, 
Lucie’s faithful maid and best friend. 

“ I hope she will do well now,” Mr. Lorry said. 

“No thanks to you in brown, if she does. My darling 
pretty.” 

“ I hope,” said Mr. Lorry, after another pause of feeble 
sympathy and humility, “ that you accompany Miss Man- 
ette to France? ” 

“ A likely thing, too,” replied the strong woman. “ If it 
was ever intended that I should go across salt water, do you 
suppose Providence would have cast my lot in an island ? ” 

This being another hard question to answer, Mr. Jarvis 
Lorry withdrew to consider it. 





RECALLED TO LIFE 


33 


CHAPTER III 
THE WINE SHOP 

A LARGE cask of wine had been dropped and broken in 
the street. The accident had happened in getting it 
out of a cart. The cask had tumbled out with a run, the 
hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones just outside the 
door of the wine shop, shattered like a walnut shell. 

All the people had suspended their business or their idle¬ 
ness to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough ir¬ 
regular stones of the street, pointing every way, had 
dammed it into little pools. These were surrounded, each 
by its own jostling group or crowd. Some men kneeled 
down, made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, 
or tried to help women who bent over their shoulders, to sip 
before the wine had all run between their fingers. Others, 
men and women, dipped in the puddles with little mugs 
of mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from 
women’s heads, which were squeezed dry into infants’^ 
mouths. Others made small mud embankments, to stem 
the wine as it ran. Others, directed by lookers-on up at 
high windows, darted here and there, to cut off little streams 
of wine that started away in new directions. Others de¬ 
voted themselves to the sodden pieces of the cask, licking 
and champing the wine-rotted fragments with eager relish. 
There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not only 
did it all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up 
along with it, that there might have been a scavenger in the 
street, if anybody could have believed in such a miraculous 
presence. 

When the wine was gone and the places where it had been 
most abundant were raked into a gridiron pattern by fin¬ 
gers, these demonstrations ceased as suddenly as they had 


34 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

broken out. The man who had left his saw sticking in the 
firewood he was cutting set it in motion again. The woman 
who had left on a doorstep the little pot of hot ashes, at 
which she had been trying to soften the pain in her starved 
fingers and toes, or in those of her child, returned to it. 
Men with bare arms and haggard faces, who had emerged 
into the winter light from cellars, moved away, to descend 
again; and a gloom gathered on the scene that appeared 
more natural to it than sunshine. 

The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the 
narrow street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, 
where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and 
many faces, and many naked feet, and many wooden shoes. 
The hands of the man who sawed the wood left red marks 
on the billets, and the forehead of the woman who nursed 
her baby was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound 
about her head again. Those who had been greedy with the 
staves of the cask had acquired a tigerish smear about the 
mouth. One tall joker, so besmirched, scrawled upon a 
wall, with his finger dipped in muddy wine lees — Blood. 

And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which 
a momentary gleam had driven from his countenance, the 
darkness of it was heavy; — cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, 
Want. 

The wine shop was a corner shop, better than most others. 
The master of the wine shop had stood outside it, in a yel¬ 
low waistcoat and green breeches, looking on at the struggle 
for the lost wine. 

“It's not my affair,” he said. “The people from the 
market did it. Let them bring another.” 

Then his eyes happening to catch the tall joker writing up 
his joke, he called to him across the way, “ Say then, my 
Gaspard, what do you do there? ” 

~ The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance. 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


35 


“ What, now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital? ” 
asked the wine-shop keeper. He crossed the road and oblit¬ 
erated the jest with a handful of mud, picked up for the 
purpose, smearing it over the word. “ Why do you write 
in the public streets? Is there — tell me — is there no 
other place to write such words in? ” 

He dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally, per¬ 
haps not) upon the joker’s heart. The joker rapped it with 
his own, took a nimble spring upward, and came down in a 
fantastic dancing attitude, with one of his stained shoes 
jerked off his foot into his hand, and held out. 

“ Put it on, put it on,” said the wine shop keeper. “ Call 
wine, wine, and finish there.” With that advice he wipecf 
his soiled hand upon the joker’s dress, as having dirtied the 
hand on his account, and recrossed the road and entered 
the wine shop. 

He was a large martial looking man of thirty. He wore 
no coat but carried one slung over his shoulder. His shirt 
sleeves were rolled up, too, and his arms were bare to the 
elbow. Neither did he wear anything more on his head 
than his own crisply-curling short dark hair. He was a 
dark man altogether, with good eyes and a good bold 
breadth between them; good-humored looking, on the 
whole, but implacable looking, too; evidently a man of a 
strong resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to 
be met, rushing down a narrow pass wjth a gulf on either 
side, for nothing would turn the man. 

Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the 
counter as he came in. She was' a stout woman of his own 
age, with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at any¬ 
thing, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, and great 
composure of manner. There was a character about Ma¬ 
dame Defarge from which one might have known that she 
did not often make mistakes against herself, in any of the 


36 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge was 
wrapped in fur and had a bright shawl twined about her 
head, though not to the concealment of her large earrings. 
Her knitting was before her, but she had laid it down to 
attract her husband’s attention to a couple of unusual 
strangers. 

The wine-shop keeper rolled his eyes about until they 
rested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, seated 
in a corner. 

“ What the devil do you do in that galley there ? ” said 
Defarge to himself; “I don’t know you.” 

But he pretended not to notice the two strangers, and 
began to talk to three customers who were drinking at the 
counter. 

“How goes it, Jacques?” said one of these to Monsieur 
Defarge. “ Is all the spilt wine swallowed? ” 

“ Every drop, Jacques.” 

“ Ah, so much the worse. A bitter taste it is that such 
poor cattle always have in their mouths; and hard lives 
they live, Jacques. Am I right, Jacques? ” 1 

“ It is not often,” said the second of the three, addressing 
Monsieur Defarge, “ that many of these miserable beasts 
know the taste of wine, or of anything but black bread and 
death. Is it not so, Jacques? ” 

“ It is so, Jacques,” Monsieur Defarge returned. 

The elderly gentleman advanced from his corner and 
begged the favor of a word. 

“ Willingly, sir,” said Monsieur Dc farge, and quietly 
stepped with him to the door. 

Almost at the first word Monsieur Defarge started and 
became deeply attentive. Then he nodded and went out. 
The gentleman beckoned to the young lady, and they, too, 


1 The name “ Jacques ” was given to every member of a certain 
secret club which was preparing for revolution. 


RECALLED TO LIFE 37 

went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimble fingers and 
steady eyebrows, and saw nothing. 

Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette, emerging from the 
wine shop, joined Monsieur Defarge in the doorway. In 
the gloomy tile-paved entry to the gloomy tile-paved stair¬ 
case, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one knee to the child 
of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. It was a 
gentle action, but a very remarkable transformation had 
come over him in a few seconds. He had no good humor in 
his face, and had become a secret, angry, dangerous man. 

“ It is very high; it is a little difficult; better to begin 
slowly.” Thus Monsieur Defarge, in a stern voice to Mr. 
Lorry, as they began ascending the stairs. 

“ Is he alone ? ” the latter whispered. 

“ Alone! God help him! Who should be with him? ” 

“ Is he always alone then ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Of his own desire? ” 

“ Of his own necessity. As he was when I first saw him, 
after they found me, and demanded to know if I would take 
him, and at my peril be discreet. As he was then — so he 
is now.” 

“ He is greatly changed? ” 

“ Changed! ” 

The keeper of the wine shop stopped to strike the wall 
with his hand, and mutter a tremendous curse. No direct 
answer could have been half so forcible. Mr. Lorry’s spirits 
grew heavier and heavier, as he and his two companions 
ascended higher and higher. 

At last the top of the stair case was gained. The keeper 
of the wine shop felt in the pocket of the coat he carried 
and took out a key. 

“ The door is locked, then, my friend? ” said Mr. Lorry, 
surprised. 


38 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Ay. Yes,” was the grim reply. 

“ You think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentle¬ 
man confined? ” 

“ I think it necessary to turn the key.” 

“Why?” 

“ Why! Because he has lived so long locked up, that he 
would be frightened — rave — tear himself to pieces die 
— come to I know not what harm — if the door was left 
open.” 

“ Is it possible? ” 

“Is it possible! Yes, and a beautiful world we live in, 
when it is possible! Long live the Devil! Let us go on. 

He struck twice or thrice upon the door and drew the 
key across it three or four times, before he put it clumsily 
into the lock, and turned it as heavily as he could. 

The door slowly opened inward, and he looked into the 
room and said something. A faint voice answered. 

He looked back over his shoulder and beckoned them to 
enter. Mr. Lorry got his arm securely around the daugh¬ 
ter’s waist and held her, for he felt that she was sinking. 

“ I am afraid of it,” she answered, shuddering. 

“Of it? What?” 

“ I mean of him — of my father.” 

Rendered in a manner desperate by her state, and by the 
beckoning of their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm 
that shook upon his shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried 
her into the room. He put her down just within the door, 
and held her, clinging to him. 

Defarge drew out the key, closed the door, and locked it 
on the inside; took out the key again and held it in his hand. 
Finally he walked across the room to where the window 
was. He stopped there and faced around. The garret was 
dim and dark, for the window of dormer shape was a door 
in the roof, unglazed, and closing up the middle in two 



In the gloomy tiled-paved entry, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one 
knee to the child of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. 








































































40 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

pieces, like any other door of French construction. To ex¬ 
clude the cold, one-half of this door was fast closed, and the 
other was opened but a very little way. Such a scanty 
portion of light was admitted that it was difficult, on first 
coming in, to see anything. Long habit alone could have 
slowly formed in any one the ability to do any work re¬ 
quiring nicety in such obscurity. Yet, work of that kind 
was being done in the garret; for with his back towards the 
door and his face towards the window, where the keeper 
of the wine shop stood looking at him, a white-haired man 
sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making 
shoes. 

: *L 

CHAPTER IV 
THE SHOEMAKER 

G OOD DAY,” said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at 
the white head that bent low over the shoemaking. 

It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice re¬ 
sponded. 

“ Good day.” 

“ You are still hard at work, I see.” 

After a long silence, the head was lifted for another mo¬ 
ment and the voice replied, “Yes, I am working.” This 
time a pair of large, dark, haggard eyes had looked at the 
questioner before the face had dropped again. 

“ I want to let in a little more light, here. You can bear 
a little more ? ” 

The shoemaker stopped his work, looked with a vacant 
air of listening at the floor on one side of him, then, at the 
floor on the other side of him, then upward at the speaker. 
“ What did you say? ” 

“ You can bear a little more light? ” 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


41 


“ I must bear it, if you let it in.” 

The opened half-door was opened a little further, and a 
broad ray of light fell into the garret. It showed the work¬ 
man with an unfinished shoe in his lap, pausing in his labor. 
He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and 
the very bones of it seemed transparent. His yellow rags 
of shirt lay open at the throat, and showed his body to be 
withered and worn. 

“ Are you going to finish that pair of shoes, today ? ” 
asked Defarge, motioning Mr. Lorry to come forward. 

“ What did you say? ” 

“ Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes today ? ” 

“ I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t 
know.” But the question reminded him of his work, and he 
bent over it again. 

Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by 
the door. 

“ You have a visitor, you see,” said Monsieur Defarge. 

“ What did you say? ” 

“Here is a visitor.” 

The shoemaker looked up as before, but without remov¬ 
ing a hand from his work. 

“ Come,” said Defarge. “ Here is monsieur who knows a 
well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you 
are working at. Take it, monsieur.” 

Mr. Lorry took it in his hand. 

“ Tell monsieur what kind of a shoe it is, and the maker’s 
name.” 

There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoe¬ 
maker replied. 

“ I forget what it was you asked me. What did you 
say? ” 

“ I said, couldn’t you describe the kind of shoe it is, and 
the maker’s name ? ” 


42 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

“ It is a lady’s shoe. It is a young lady’s walking shoe. 
It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have 
had a pattern in my hand.” He glanced at the shoe with 
some little passing touch of pride. 

“ And the maker’s name? ” said Defarge. 

“ Did you ask me for my name? ” 

“ Assuredly I did.” 

“ One Hundred and Five, North Tower.” 

“ Is that all ? ” 

“ One Hundred and Five, North Tower.” 

He bent to work again, until the silence was again broken. 
“ You are not a shoemaker by trade? ” asked Mr. Lorry, 
looking steadfastly at him. 

“ I am not a shoemaker by trade? No, I was not a shoe¬ 
maker by trade. I —I learned it here. I taught myself. 
I asked leave to teach myself, and I got it with much diffi¬ 
culty after a long while, and I have made shoes ever since.’’ 

“ Monsieur Manette, do you remember nothing of me? ” 
Mr. Lorry said. 

The shoe dropped to the ground, and he sat looking 
fixedly at the questioner. 

“ Monsieur Manette,” Mr. Lorry laid his hand upon 
Defarge’s arm: “Do you remember nothing of this man? 
Look at him. Look at me. Is there no old banker, no old 
business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your mind, 
Monsieur Manette? ” 

He looked at the two less and less attentively. Finally, 
with a deep long sigh, he took the shoe up, and resumed his 
work. 

“ Have you recognized him, monsieur? ” said Defarge in 
a whisper. 

“ Yes, for a moment. At first I thought it quite hopeless, 
but I have unquestionably seen the face that I once knew so 
well. Hush! Let us draw further back. Hush! ” 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


43 


Lucie had moved very near to the bench on which he sat. 
Not a word was spoken; not a sound was made. She stood 
beside him, and he bent over his work. 

It happened, at length, that he had occasion to change 
the instrument in his hand for his shoemaker’s knife. 
He had taken it up and was stooping to work again, 
when his eyes caught the skirt of her dress. He raised 
them, and saw her face. The two spectators started for¬ 
ward, but she stayed them with a motion of her hand. 
She had no fear of his striking at her with the knife, though 
they had. 

He stared at her with a fearful look, and after a while 
his lips began to form some words, though no sound pro¬ 
ceeded from them. By degrees, in the pauses of his quick 
and labored breathing, he was heard to say: 

“ What is this? You are not the jailor’s daughter? ” 

She sighed, “ No.” 

“ Who are you ? ” 

Not yet trusting the tones of her voice, she sat down on 
the bench beside him. He recoiled, but she laid her hand 
upon his arm. A strange thrill struck him, and vividly 
passed over him. He laid the knife down softly, as he sat 
staring at her. 

Her golden hair, which she wore in long curls, had been 
hurriedly pushed aside and fell down over her neck. Ad¬ 
vancing his hand by little and little, he took it up and looked 
at it. In the midst of the action he went astray, and with 
another sigh fell to work at his shoemaking. But not for 
long. 

Releasing his arm, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. 
After looking doubtfully at it, two or three times, as if to be 
sure that it was really there, he laid down his work, put his 
hand to his neck, and took off a blackened string with a 
scrap of folded rag attached to it. He opened this carefully 


44 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


on his knee. It contained a very little quantity of hair, 
not more than one or two long golden hairs, which he had, 
in some old day, wound off upon his finger. He took her 
hair into his hand again and looked closely at it. 

“ It is the same. How can it be? When was it? How 
was it ? ” 

He turned her full to the light and looked, at her. 

“ She had laid her head upon my shoulder that night 
when I was summoned out — she had a fear of my going, 
though I had none — and when I was brought to the North 
Tower, they found these upon my sleeve. ‘ You will leave 
me them? They can never help me to escape in the body, 
though they may in the spirit/ Those were the words I 
said. I remember them very well/ , 

He formed this speech with his lips many times before he 
could utter it. But when he did find spoken words for it, 
they come coherently, though slowly. 

“ How was this? Was it you? ” 

Once more -the spectators started, as he turned upon her 
with a frightful suddenness. But she sat perfectly still in 
his grasp, and only said, in a low tone of voice: 

“ I entreat you, good gentlemen, do not come near us; 
do not move; do not speak.” 

“ Hark! ” he exclaimed. “ Whose voice is that? ” 

His hands released her, as he uttered this cry, and went 
up to his white hair, which they tore in a frenzy. It died 
out, as everything but his shoemaking did die out of him, 
and he refolded his little packet, and tried to secure it in his 
breast, but he still looked at her, and gloomily shook his 
head. 

“No! No! No! You are too young, too blooming. It 
can’t be. See what the prisoner is! These are not the 
hands she knew! This is not the face she knew! This is 
not a voice she ever heard. No, no! She was, and He was 


RECALLED TO LIFE 45 

— before the slow years of the North Tower — years ago. 
What is your name, my gentle angel? ” 

Hailing his softened tone and manner, his daughter fell 
upon her knees before him, with her appealing hands upon 
his breast. 

“ 0, sir, at another time you shall know my name, and 
who my mother was, and who my father was, and how 
I never knew their hard, hard history. But I cannot 
tell you at this time, and I cannot tell you here. All 
that I may tell you here and now, is that I pray to you 
to touch me and to bless me, and kiss me! Oh my dear, 
my dear! ” 

His cold white head mingled with her radiant hair, which 
warmed and lighted it as though it were the light of Free¬ 
dom shining on him. 

“If you hear in my voice — I don’t know that it is so, 
but I hope it is, — if you hear in my voice any resemblance 
to a voice that once was sweet music in your ears, weep for 
it, weep for it! If you touch, in touching my hair, any¬ 
thing that recalls a beloved head that lay on your breast 
when you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it! 
If when I hint to you of a home that is before us, where 1 
will be true to you with all my duty and with all my faith¬ 
ful service, I bring back the remembrance of a home long 
desolate, while your poor heart pined away, weep for it, 
weep for it! ” 

She held him closer round the neck and rocked him on her 
breast like a child. 

“ If when I tell you, dearest dear, that your agony is 
over, and that I have come here to take you from it, 
and that we go to England to be at peace and at rest, I 
cause you to think of your useful life laid waste, and 
# of our native France so wicked to you, weep for it, weep 
for it! And if, when I shall tell you of my name, and of 


46 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


my father who is living, and of my mother who is dead, 
you learn that I have to kneel to my honored father and 
implore his pardon for having never for his sake striven all 
day and lain awake and wept all night, because the love of 
my poor mother hid his torture from me, weep for it, weep 
for it! Weep for her, then, and for me! Good gentlemen, 
thank God! I feel his sacred tears upon my face, and his 
sobs strike against my heart. 0, see! Thank God for us, 
thank God! ” 

He had sunk in her arms, and his face dropped on her 
breast, a sight so touching, yet so terrible in the wrong and 
suffering which had gone before it, that the two beholders 
covered their faces. 

When the quiet of the garret had been long undisturbed, 
and his heaving breast and shaken form had long yielded to 
the calls that must follow all storms — emblem to humanity 
of the rest and silence into which the storm called Life must 
hush at last — they came forward to raise the father and 
daughter from the ground. He had gradually dropped to 
the floor and lay there in a lethargy, worn out. She had 
nestled down with him, that his head might lie upon her 
arm; and her hair, drooping over him, curtained him from 
the light. 

“ If, without disturbing him,” she said, raising her hand 
to Mr. Lorry as he stooped over them, after repeated blow¬ 
ings of his nose, “ all could be arranged for our leaving 
Paris at once, so that, from the very door, he could be taken 
away — ” 

“ But, consider. Is he fit for the journey?” asked Mr. 
Lorry. 

“ More fit for that, I think, than to remain in this city, 
so dreadful to him.” 

“ It is true,” said Defarge, who was kneeling to look on 
and hear. “ More than that, Monsieur Manette is, for all 


RECALLED TO LIFE 47 

reasons, best out of France. Say, shall I hire a carriage and 
post-horses? ” 

“ That’s business,” said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the short¬ 
est notice his methodical manners, “ and if business is to be 
done, I had better do it.” 

“ Then be so kind as to leave us here. You see how com¬ 
posed he has become, and you cannot be afraid to leave him 
with me now. In any case I will take care of him until you 
return, and then we will remove him straight. If you will 
lock the door, to secure us from interruption, I do not doubt 
that you will find him, when you come back, as quiet as you 
leave him.” 

Both Mr. Lorry and Defarge were disinclined to this 
course, and in favor of one of them remaining. But as 
there were not only carriage and horses to be seen to but 
traveling papers, and as time pressed, for the day was draw¬ 
ing to an end, it came at last to their hastily dividing the 
business that was necessary to be done, and hurrying away. 

Then as the darkness closed in, the daughter laid her head 
down on the hard ground close at the father’s side and 
watched him. The darkness deepened and deepened, and 
they both lay quiet, until a light gleamed through the 
chinks in the wall. 

Mr. Lorry and Monsieur Defarge had made all ready for 
the journey, and had brought with them, besides traveling 
cloaks and wrappers, bread and meat, wine and hot coffee. 
Monsieur Defarge put this provender, and the lamp he car¬ 
ried, on the shoemaker’s bench, and he and Mr. Lorry 
roused the captive and assisted him to his feet. They tried 
speaking to him, but he was so confused, and so very slow to 
answer that they took fright at his bewilderment and 
agreed, for the time, to tamper with him no more. He had 
a wild, lost manner of occasionally clasping his head in his 
hands, that had not been seen in him before, yet he had 


48 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

some pleasure in the mere sound of his daughter’s voice, and 
always turned to it when she spoke. 

In the submissive way of one long accustomed to obey 
under coercion he ate and drank what they gave him and 
put on the cloak and other wrappings that they gave him 
to wear. He readily responded to his daughter’s drawing 
her arm through his, and took, and kept, her hand in both 
his own. 

They began to descend, Monsieur Defarge going first 
with the lamp, Mr. Lorry closing the little procession. 
They had not traversed many steps of the long main stair¬ 
case when he stopped, and stared at the roof and round at 
the walls. 

“ You remember the place, my father? You remember 
coming here? ” 

“ What did you say? ” 

But before she could repeat the question, he murmured, 
“ Remember? No, I don’t remember. It was so very long 
ago.” 

That he had no recollection whatever of having been 
brought from his prison to that house was apparent to 
them. They heard him mutter, 

“ One Hundred and Five, North Tower,” and when he 
looked about him, it evidently was for the strong fortress 
walls which had long encompassed him. On reaching the 
courtyard he instinctively altered his tread, as in expecta¬ 
tion of a drawbridge; and when there was no drawbridge, 
and he saw the carriage waiting in the open street, he 
dropped his daughter’s hand and clasped his head again. 

Only one soul was to be seen, and that was Madame 
Defarge, who leaned against the door-post, knitting, and 
saw nothing. The prisoner had got into a coach, and his 
daughter had followed him, when Mr. Lorry’s feet were ar¬ 
rested on the step by his asking, miserably, for his shoe- 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


49 


making tools and the unfinished shoes. Madame Defarge 
immediately called t6 her husband that she would get them, 
and went, knitting, out of the lamplight, through the court¬ 
yard. She quickly brought them down and handed them 
in; and immediately afterwards leaned against the door¬ 
post, knitting, and saw nothing. 

Defarge got upon the box, and gave the word “ To the 
Barrier/’ The postillion cracked his whip, and they clat¬ 
tered away under the feeble over-swinging lamps. 

Under the over-swinging lamps, swinging ever brighter 
in the better streets, and ever dimmer in the worse, and by 
lighted shops, gay crowds, illuminated coffee-houses, and 
theatergoers, to one of the city gates. 

Soldiers with lanterns, at the guard house, there. 

“ Your papers, travelers.” 

“ See here, then, Monsieur the Officer,” said Defarge, 
getting down and taking him gravely aside, “ these are the 
papers of monsieur inside with the white head. They were 
consigned to me with him at the — ” He dropped his voice. 
There was a flutter among the military lanterns and one of 
them being handed into the coach by an arm in uniform, the 
eyes connected with the uniform looked, not an everyday 
look, or an everynight look, at monsieur with the white 
head. 

“ It is well. Forward,” from the uniform. 

“ Adieu,” from Defarge. And so, under a short grove of 
feebler and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the 
great grove of stars. All through the cold and restless in¬ 
terval the fancies were whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis 
Lorry, sitting opposite the buried man who had been dug 
out: 

"I hope you care to be recalled to life? ” And the old 
answer, “ I can’t say.” 

Doctor Manette was so exhausted that Lucie had to make 


50 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


a bed for him on the deck of the boat, being afraid to take 
him into the cabin. The sea was Very rough, and Mr. 
Lorry became so seasick that he could not help her in any 
way. He had to lie on a couch during the entire voyage. 
However, she was assisted by the only other passenger on 
board. This was a young Frenchman who made his home 
in England and made his living by teaching French and 
French literature. He often traveled between England and 
France, so knew the ways of the weather, and was able to 
keep Doctor Manette protected from the cold winds. Lucie 
deeply appreciated his sympathy and gentle consideration 
in caring for her father. His name was Charles Darnay. 

* * * 

At the time Doctor Manette was released from the Bas¬ 
tille the only living members of the St. Evremonde family, 
which had been responsible for putting him into prison, were 
the one who was designated as the younger brother, the 
Marquis St. Evremonde, and his nephew Charles St. Evre¬ 
monde, whose father and mother were both dead. Always 
faithful to the early teachings of his sweet beloved mother, 
Charles St. Evremonde had tried all his life to carry out her 
wishes to help the poor people. He had made it the great 
duty of his life to search for the sister, whose relatives had 
been really murdered by his father and uncle. He wanted 
to help the poor people in every way and constantly tried 
to influence his uncle, the Marquis St. Evremonde, to make 
the burdens of the poor people lighter. His uncle grew to 
dislike him and even to hate him to such an extent that he 
would have had him put into the Bastille if he were sure 
of having sufficient power. Times had changed slightly, 
and while still a great nobleman he did not possess the 
power he and his family once had. He would have been 
reconciled with his nephew if he would have lived like a 


RECALLED TO LIFE 


51 


nobleman, but this Charles refused to do. He would not 
live on the toil of such oppressed people. He preferred to 
make his own living by teaching French and French litera¬ 
ture in England. There he was known by the name of 
Charles Darnay. 


BOOK II. THE GOLDEN THREAD 

Time: 1780-1792 
Place: London and Paris 

CHAPTER I 

FIVE YEARS LATER, 1780 
ELLSON’S BANK, by Temple Bar, was an old-fash- 



X ioned place even in the year one thousand seven 
hundred and eighty. It was very small, very dark, very 
ugly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned place, 
moreover, in the moral attribute, that the partners in the 
house were proud of its smallness, proud of its darkness, 
proud of its ugliness, proud of its incommodiousness. Any 
one of these partners would have disinherited his son on the 
question of rebuilding Tellson’s. In this respect the house 
was much on a par with the country, which did very often 
disinherit its sons for suggesting improvements in laws and 
customs that had long been highly objectionable. 

Outside Tellson’s, never in it, unless called in, was an odd- 
job man, porter and messenger, Jerry Cruncher. His home 
was not in a savory neighborhood and was composed of two 
rooms in a large tenement. But the two rooms were very 
decently kept. Early as it was, on this particular March 
morning, the room in which Jerry Cruncher lay abed was 
already scrubbed throughout and a very clean white cloth 
was spread on the lumbering deal table, beneath the cups 
and saucers. Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patch-work 
counterpane. At first he slept heavily, but by degrees be- 


52 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


53 


gan to roll and surge in bed, until he rose above the surface, 
with his spiky hair looking as if it must tear the sheet to 
ribbons. 

“ Bust me, if she ain’t at it again.” 1 

A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose 
from her knees in a corner. 

“ What,” looking out of bed for a boot, “ you’re at it again, 
are you? ” 

After hailing the morn with this second salutation, he 
threw a boot at the woman as a third. It was a very 
muddy boot, and may introduce the odd circumstance that, 
whereas he often came home after banking hours with clean 
boots, he often got up next morning to find the same boots 
covered with clay. 

“ What are you up to, Aggerwayter ? ” 2 

“ I was only saying my prayers,” she answered. 

“ Saying your prayers! You’re a nice woman! What do 
you mean by flopping yourself down find praying agin me? ” 

“ I was not praying against you; I was praying for you.” 

“ You weren’t. And if you were I won’t be took the lib¬ 
erty with. Here, your mother’s a nice woman, young Jerry, 
going a-praying agin your father’s prosperity. You’ve got 
a dutiful mother, you have, my boy. You’ve got a religious 
mother, you have, my son, going and flopping herself down, 
and praying that the bread and butter may be snatched out 
of the mouth of her only child.” 

Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very 
ill, and turning to his mother strongly deprecated any pray¬ 
ing away of his personal board. 

“ And what do you suppose, you conceited female, that 
the worth of your prayers may be? ” 

1 Jerry’s wife was praying constantly that her husband would stop 
his unlawful and dangerous business of robbing cemeteries. 

2 Jerry said that his wife aggravated him, so he called her an “ag- 
gravater” ( aggerwayter ). 


54 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


" They only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth 
no more than that.” 

“ Worth no more than that! They ain’t worth much, 
then. Whether or no, I won’t be prayed agin; I tell you. 
I can’t afford it. I’m not going to be made unlucky by your 
sneaking. If you must go flopping yourself down, flop 
in favor of your husband and child, and not in opposition 
to ’em. If I had had any but a unnatural wife, and this 
poor boy had had any but a unnatural mother, I might have 
made some money last week, instead of being counterprayed 
and countermined and religiously circumwented into the 
worst of luck. Bust me,” all this time putting on his clothes, 
“ if I ain’t been choused this last week into as bad luck as 
ever a poor devil of a honest tradesman met with. Young 
Jerry, dress yourself, my boy, and while I clean my boots, 
keep a eye upon your mother now and then; and if you see 
any sign of more flopping, give me a call. For I tell you, I 
won’t be gone agin inwthis manner. I am as rickety as a 
hackney coach. I’m as sleepy as laudanum. My lines is 
strained to that degree that I shouldn’t know, if it wasn’t 
for the pain in ’em, which was me, and which somebody 
else. Yet I’m none the better for it in pocket; and it’s 
my suspicion you’ve been at it from morning to night to 
prevent me from being the better for it in pocket, and 
I won’t put up with it, Aggerwayter, and what do you 
say now ? ” 

Growling, in addition, such phrases as “Ah yes, you’re 
religious, too; you wouldn’t put yourself in opposition 
to the interests of your husband and child, would you? 
Not you,” Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his boot clean¬ 
ing and his general preparation for business. In the mean¬ 
time his son, whose head was garnished with tenderer 
spikes, kept the required watch upon his mother. He 
greatly disturbed that poor woman at intervals by darting 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


55 


out with a suppressed cry of “ You are going to flop, 
mother. Hulloa, father ” ; and after raising this fictitious 
alarm, darting away again with an undutiful grin. 

Mr. Cruncher’s temper was not at all improved when 
he came to his breakfast. He resented Mrs. Cruncher’s 
saying grace with particular animosity. 

“ Now, Aggerwayter, what are you up to? At it again? ” 

His wife explained that she had merely asked a blessing. 

“ Don’t do it. I ain’t agoing to be blest out of house 
and home. I won’t have my wittles blest off my table. 
Keep still.” 

Jerry Cruncher worried his breakfast down, rather than 
ate it, growling like any four-footed inmate of a menagerie. 

Towards nine o’clock he smoothed his ruffled aspect and 
issued forth to the occupation of the day. It could hardly 
be called a trade. His stock consisted of a wooden stool, 
which young Jerry, walking at his father’s side, carried 
every morning to a place beneath the banking-house win¬ 
dow. Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to 
touch his three-cornered hat to the oldest of men as they 
passed into Tellson’s, Jerry took up his station on this, 
windy March morning, with young Jerry standing by him. 

The head of one of the indoor messengers was put 
through the door and the word given, “ Porter wanted.” 

“ Hooray, father. Here’s an early job to begin with.” 

Having given his father Godspeed, young Jerry seated 
himself on the stool and cogitated: 

“ Always rusty. His fingers is always rusty. Where 
does my father get all that iron rust from? He don’t get 
no iron rust here.” 

One of the oldest of clerks sent for Jerry, and said to 
him: 

“ You know the Old Bailey well, no doubt? ” 

“ Ye-es, sir, I do know the Bailey.” 


56 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Just so; and you know Mr. Lorry? ” 

“ I know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the 
Bailey; much better than I, as a honest tradesman, wish 
to know the Bailey.” 

“ Very well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, 
and show the doorkeeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will 
then let you in.” 

“ Into the court, sir ? ” 

“ Into the court.” 

Mr. Cruncher’s eyes seemed to get a little closer to one 
another, and to interchange the inquiry, “ What do you 
think of this ? ” 

“ Am I to wait in the court, sir? ” 

“ I am going to tell you. The doorkeeper will pass the 
note to Mr. Lorry, and do you make any gesture that will 
attract Mr. Lorry’s attention, and show him that you are 
there, and where you stand. Then, what you have to do is 
to remain there until he wants you.” 

“ Is that all, sir ? ” 

“ That’s all. He wishes to have a messenger at hand. 

, This is to tell him you are there.” 

As the ancient clerk folded and superscribed the note, 
Mr. Cruncher, after surveying him in silence, remarked, 

“ I suppose they’ll be trying forgeries this morning ? ” 

“ Treason.” 

“ That’s quartering . 3 Barbarous.” 

“ It is the law,” said the ancient clerk, turning his sur¬ 
prised spectacles upon him. “ It is the law.” 

“ It’s hard in the law to spile a man, I think. It’s hard 
enough to kill him, but it’s werry hard to spile him, sir.” 

“ Not at all. Not at all. Speak well of the law. Here 
is the letter. Go along.” 

3 The bodies of men executed for certain crimes were sometimes 
divided into quarters and exhibited in public places. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


57 


Jerry took the letter, and remarking to himself with 
less internal deference than he made an outward show of, 
“ You are a lean old one, too,” made his bow, informed 
his son, in passing, of his destination and went his way. 

At this time prisoners were tried at the Old Bailey but 
were taken to Tyburn for execution; so the Old Bailey 
was a kind of inn-yard, from which pale travelers set out 
continually on a violent passage into the other world. It 
was famous for many kinds of executions. It was famous, 
too, for the pillory, an old institution that inflicted a pun¬ 
ishment of which no one could foresee the extent; also 
for the whipping post, not very humanizing or softening 
to behold in action; also for transactions in blood money 
where spies or other people would be paid by the govern¬ 
ment of England for detecting acts of treason. This led 
to framing up crimes against innocent individuals and led 
to the most frightful mercenary crimes that could be com¬ 
mitted under Heaven. But as the ancient bank clerk 
said, whatever was the law must be just, because it was 
the law. Altogether, the Old Bailey was an illustration of 
the precept that, “ Whatever is, is right.” That would 
be as final as lazy, did it not include the consequence that 
“ nothing that ever was, was wrong.” 

Making his way through the crowd with the skill of a 
man accustomed to make his way quietly, the messenger 
found out the door he sought, and handed in his letter. 
People then paid to see the trials at the Old Bailey; there¬ 
fore all the doors were well guarded — except the social 
doors by which the criminals got there, and those were 
always left wide open. After some delay the door turned 
on its hinges a very little way, and allowed Mr. Jerry 
Cruncher to squeeze himself into court. 

“ What’s on? ” he asked in a whisper of the man he found 
himself next to. 


58 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Nothing yet.” 

“What’s coming on?” 

“ The treason case.” 

“The quartering one, eh?” 

“Ah,” returned the man with a relish; “he’ll be drawn 
on a hurdle to be half-hanged, and then he’ll be taken down, 
and sliced before his own face; and then his inside will be 
taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then his head 
will be chopped off, and he’ll be cut into quarters. That’s 
the sentence.” 

“ If he’s found guilty, you mean,” Jerry added. 

“ Oh, they’ll find him guilty; don’t you be afraid of that.” 

Mr. Cruncher’s attention was here diverted to the door¬ 
keeper, whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with 
the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among 
the gentlemen in wigs. He was not far from the pris¬ 
oner’s lawyer, Mr. Stryver, who had a great bundle of 
papers before him. On the other side of the table was 
Mr. Stryver’s clerk, who did nearly all the brain work 
in every case that his employer had. He was a brilliant 
but dissipated young lawyer without any ambition. It was 
known that he prepared all Stryver’s cases for him, but 
in court he appeared to take no interest in anything. 
He was an untidy-looking individual, with his hands in 
his pockets, whose whole attention seemed to be concen¬ 
trated on the ceiling of the court. His name was Sydney 
Carton. 

After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin, and 
signing with his hand, Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. 
Lorry who had stood up to look for him, and who quietly 
nodded and sat down again. 

“ What’s he got to do with the case? ” asked the man he 
had spoken with. 

“Blest if I know.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


59 


“ What have you got to do with the case, then, if a per¬ 
son may inquire? ” 

“ Blest if I know that, either,” said Jerry. 

The entrance of the Judge, and a great stir and settling 
down in the court, stopped the dialogue. Presently the 
dock became the central point of interest. Two jailors 
brought the prisoner in, who was put to the bar. 

Everybody present, except the one wigged gentleman, 
Sydney Carton, who looked at the ceiling, stared at the 
prisoner. All the human breath in the place rolled at him 
like a sea or a wind or a fire. Eager faces strained round 
pillars to get a sight of him. 

He was about five and twenty, well grown and well look¬ 
ing, with a sunburnt cheek and a dark eye. His condition 
was that of a young gentleman, plainly dressed in black 
or very dark grey. He was quite self-possessed; bowed to 
the Judge and stood quiet. 

Silence in the court! — Charles Darnay had yesterday 
pleaded not guilty to an indictment denouncing him as a 
traitor to our prince, our Lord the King, by having assisted 
Lewis, the French King, revealing to him what forces our 
King had in preparation to send to Canada and North 
America, against the American Colonies. This much Jerry, 
with his head becoming more and more spiky as the law 
terms bristled it, made out with satisfaction and so arrived 
at the understanding that Charles Darnay stood there 
before him upon his trial; that the jury were swearing in; 
and that Mr. Attorney-General was ready to speak. 

The accused, who was being mentally hanged, beheaded 
and quartered by everybody there, neither flinched from the 
situation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was 
quiet and attentive, watched the opening proceedings with 
a grave interest, and stood with his hands resting on the 
slab of wood before him, so composedly that they had not 


60 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

displaced a leaf of the herbs with which it was strewn. 
The court was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkled with 
vinegar, as a precaution against jail air and jail fever. 

A change in his position turned his face to that side of 
the court which was on his left. About on a level with his 
eyes there sat, in that corner of the judge’s bench, two 
persons upon whom his look immediately rested; so much 
to the changing of his aspect, that all the eyes that were 
turned upon him, turned to them. 

The spectators saw in the two figures a young lady, of 
little more than twenty, and a gentleman who was evi¬ 
dently her father; a man of a very remarkable appearance 
in respect to the absolute whiteness of his hair and a cer¬ 
tain intensity of face, a handsome man, not past the prime 
of life. 

His daughter had one of her hands drawn through his 
arm, as she sat by him, and the other pressed upon it. She 
had drawn close to him, in her dread of the scene, and in 
her pity for the prisoner. Her forehead had been strik¬ 
ingly expressive of terror and compassion that saw nothing 
but the peril of the accused. This had been so very no¬ 
ticeable that starers, who had had no pity for him, were 
touched by her, and the whisper went about, 

“ Who is she? ” 

Jerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations 
in his own manner and who had been sucking the rust off his 
fingers in his absorption, stretched his neck to hear who 
they were. The crowd about him had passed the inquiry 
on to the nearest attendant, and from him it had been 
slowly passed back. At last it got to Jerry: 

“ Witnesses.” 

“ For which side?” 

“ Against.” 

“ Against what side? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


61 


“ The prisoner’s.” 

The Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general direction, 
recalled them, leaned back in his seat, and looked steadily 
at the man whose life was in his hand, as Mr. Attorney- 
General rose to spin the rope, grind the axe, and hammer 
the nails into the scaffold. 

At this time the English Government paid spies to detect 
any unpatriotic people and bring information about a per¬ 
son suspected of helping the enemy country. Since these 
secret informers were given money to find any one who 
was working against England, they often “ framed up ” 
cases against innocent people, in order to get the money. 
Sometimes the innocent people would be executed as trai¬ 
tors. Then the money obtained under such circumstances 
was called “ blood money.” Charles Darnay was an easy 
victim for such secret informers, or spies. He had traveled 
back and forth between England and France a number of 
times, and he had kept his business to himself, which made 
it appear rather secret. John Barsad and Roger Cly were 
two spies for the English government who had framed up 
a case against Darnay. Cly had been his servant and 
Barsad had met him while traveling. 

Opening of the trial. Silence! Case of Darnay called. 
Thus Mr. Attorney-General: 

“ Honorable Judge and Gentlemen of the Jury: 

The prisoner, Charles Darnay, yesterday pleaded not 
guilty to an indictment denouncing him as a false traitor to 
our illustrious, excellent prince, our Lord the King, because 
he has many times assisted Lewis, the French King, in his 
wars against our illustrious, excellent Prince, our Lord 
the King; that is to say, by coming and going, between the 
dominions of our Lord the King, and those of the French 
King Lewis, and wickedly, falsely, traitorously, revealing 
to the French King what forces of men, ships, supplies, and 


62 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


so forth, our excellent, illustrious Prince, our Lord the 
King, had in preparation to send to Canada and North 
America. 

“ The prisoner before you today, gentlemen of the jury, 
though young in years, is old in treasonable practices which 
claim the forfeit of his life. His correspondence with the 
public enemy has gone on for a long time. For many years 
he has been in the habit of passing and repassing between 
France and England, on secret business of which he can 
give no honest account. If it were natural for traitors 
to thrive, his real guilt and wickedness might never have 
been discovered. But Providence put it into the heart of 
a person, who is beyond fear and reproach, to find out the 
nature of the prisoner’s schemes. Struck with horror he 
reported them to his Majesty’s Chief Secretary of State. 
This patriot, John Barsad, will be produced before you. 
He had been the prisoner’s friend, but in an evil hour, de¬ 
tecting his infamy, had resolved to sacrifice on the altar 
of his country the traitor he could no longer have for a 
friend. If statues were decreed in Britain, as they were 
in ancient Greece and Rome for public benefactors, this 
shining citizen would surely have one. 

“ Patriotism, gentlemen of the jury, is contagious, as you 
have no doubt read in poetry. So the bright virtue, known 
as love of country, in the heart of John Barsad, that im¬ 
maculate and unimpeachable witness for the Crown, com¬ 
municated itself to the prisoner’s servant, Roger Cly. This 
man had a holy determination to examine his master’s 
table drawers and pockets, and found suspicious papers 
which he brought away secretly. I am prepared to hear 
some disparagement attempted of this admirable servant, 
but for me, in a general way, I prefer him to my brothers 
and sisters, and honor him more than my father and 
mother. I call upon the jury to come and do likewise. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


63 


“ The evidence of these two witnesses, with the docu¬ 
ments found in the prisoner’s possession, show that the 
prisoner was sending away lists of the forces of the King, 
and of their disposition and preparation, both by land and 
sea. The papers are not in his handwriting, but that shows 
he was very artful in his precautions. Five years ago the 
prisoner was furnishing information to the enemy, within 
a few weeks before the first battle between the British 
troops and the Americans. For these reasons, the jury, 
being a loyal jury, as I know you are, and a responsible 
jury, as you know you are, must positively find the pris¬ 
oner guilty, and make an end of him, whether you like to 
do it or not. You never can lay your heads upon your 
pillows, you can never tolerate the idea of your wives 
laying their heads upon their pillows, you can never endure 
the notion of your children laying their heads upon their 
pillows, in short there never can be for you or yours, any 
laying of heads upon pillows at all, unless the prisoner’s 
head is taken off. I demand this of you, gentlemen of the 
jury, in the name of Patriotism. 

“ Already I consider the prisoner as good as dead and 
gone ! ” 

John Barsad, the most patriotic citizen, who had first re¬ 
ported Charles Darnay as an enemy to England, now took 
the stand to testify. The Solicitor-General, following the 
manner of the Attorney-General, questioned him and showed 
the story of his pure soul to be exactly what the former 
speaker had said. Having released his noble bosom of its 
burden, John Barsad would have modestly withdrawn him¬ 
self, but that Mr. Stryver, the attorney for Darnay, begged 
leave to ask him a few questions. , 

Stryver: “ Have you ever been a spy yourself? ” 
Barsad: “ No. I scorn the base insinuation! ” 

Stryver : “ What do you live upon ? ” 


64 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Barsad: “My property.” 

Stryver : “ Where is your property ? ” 

Barsad : “ I don’t precisely remember where it is.” 
Stryver : “ Did you inherit it ? ” 

Barsad: “Yes, I did.” 

Stryver : “ From whom ? ” 

Barsad: “A distant relation.” 

Stryver: “ Very distant? ” 

Barsad: “Rather.” 

Stryver: “ Were you ever in prison? ” 

Barsad : “ Certainly not! ” 

Stryver : “ Never in a debtor’s prison ? ” 

Barsad: “ I don’t see what that has to do with it.” 
Stryver: “Come, once again. Never in a debtor’s 
prison ? ” 

Barsad: “Yes.” 

Stryver : “ How many times ? ” 

Barsad: “ Two or three times.” 

Stryver: “ Not five or six? ” 

Barsad: “Perhaps.” 

Stryver: “What is your profession?” 

Barsad : “ A gentleman.” 

Stryver: “ Were you ever kicked? ” 

Barsad: “Might have been.” 

Stryver : “ Ever kicked downstairs ? ” 

Barsad: “Decidedly not. I once received a kick at the 
top of a staircase, and fell downstairs of my own accord.” 

Stryver: “Were you kicked on that occasion for cheat¬ 
ing at dice? ” 

Barsad : “ Something to that effect was said by the in¬ 
toxicated liar who made the assault, but it was not true.” 
Stryver : “ Will you swear it was not true ? ” 

Barsad : “ Positively.” 

Stryver: “ Ever live by cheating at play? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


65 


Barsad: “ Never.” 

Stryver: “ Ever live by play? ” 

Barsad: “ Not more than other gentlemen do.” 

Stryver : “ Ever borrow money of the prisoner ? ” 
Barsad: “Yes.” 

Stryver : “ Ever pay him ? ” 

Barsad: “No.” 

Stryver: “Was not this intimacy with the prisoner in 
reality a very slight one, forced upon the prisoner in 
coaches, inns, and boats ? ” 

Barsad: “No.” 

Stryver : “ Sure you saw the prisoner with these lists ? ” 
Barsad : “ Certain.” 

Stryver: “You don’t know anything more about the 
lists? ” 

Barsad: “No.” 

Stryver: “You didn’t get them yourself, for instance? ” 
Barsad: “No.” 

Stryver : “ Do you expect to be paid anything for this 
evidence ? ” 

Barsad: “No.” 

Stryver: “You are not in regular government pay and 
employment to lay traps ? ” 

Barsad : “ Oh, no ! ” 

Stryver : “ Or to do anything ? ” 

Barsad: “Oh dear, no.” 

Stryver : “ Swear that ? ” 

Barsad: “ Over and over again.” 

Stryver: “No motives but motives of sheer patriotism? ” 
Barsad: “ None whatever.” 

Attorney-General: “ Roger Cly ” — (The virtuous serv¬ 
ant). 

A. G.: “ Mr. Cly, when did you begin to work for the 
prisoner ? ” 


66 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


R. C.: “ About four years ago.” 

A. G.: “Did you take service with the prisoner in good 
faith and simplicity, thinking him a good citizen of Eng¬ 
land, although French by birth?” 

R. C.: “I did” 

A. G.: “ Where did you first meet the prisoner? ” 

R. C.: “On board a Calais boat. I asked the prisoner 
if he wanted a handy fellow, and he engaged me.” 

A. G.: “ When did you begin to suspect that the prisoner 
was a traitor to England? ” 

R. C.: “ Very soon after I began to work for him. I saw 
him passing papers secretly to French gentlemen. Then 
I began to keep an eye upon him. In arranging his clothes 
while traveling, I saw lists similar to these lists in the pris¬ 
oner’s pockets many times. I took these lists from the 
drawer of the prisoner’s desk. I saw the prisoner show 
these lists to French gentlemen of Calais and similar 
lists to French gentlemen both at Calais and Boulogne. 
I love my country, and couldn’t bear it, and so gave in¬ 
formation.” 

Mr. Roger Cly was asked to remain on the witness stand 
while the counsel for the defense asked him some questions. 

Stryver: “ Where did you first meet the prisoner? ” 

R. C.: “On board the Calais boat.” 

Stryver : “ At that time didn’t you beg the prisoner to 
give you a job? ” 

R. C.: “No.” 

Stryver : “ Didn’t you tell the prisoner that it would be 
an act of charity to take you ? ” 

R. C.: “ No, I never thought of such a thing.” 

Stryver: “ Don’t you earn money by being a spy? ” 

R. C.: “ Oh, certainly not.” 

Stryver: “You are not in the pay and employment of 
the government to lay traps ? ” 



THE GOLDEN THREAD 


67 


R. C.: “Of course not.” 

Stryver: “You found these lists in the drawer of the 
prisoner’s desk ? ” 

R. C.: “Yes” 

Stryver : “ Didn’t you put them there yourself ? ” 

R. C.: “ Never.” 

Stryver: “Were you ever suspected of stealing a silver 
teapot ? ” 

R. C.: “I was maligned respecting a mustard pot, but it 
turned out to be plated.” 

Stryver: “ How long have you known the last witness? ” 
R. C.: “ Seven or eight years.” 

Stryver: “Don’t you call it a curious coincidence that 
you two witnesses are so well acquainted? ” 

R. C.: “ Not at all. Most coincidences are curious.” 
Stryver: “ What is your motive for doing all this? ” 

R. C.: “ True patriotism. I am a true Briton, and hope 
there are many like me.” 

Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jarvis Lorry. 

A. G.: “Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson’s 
Bank? ” 

Mr. Lorry : “ I am.” 

A. G.: “On a certain night in November, one thousand 
seven hundred and seventy-five, did business occasion you 
to travel between London and Dover by the Mail? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “It did.” 

A. G.: “ Were there any other passengers in the Mail? ” 
Mr. Lorry: “Two.” 

A. G.: “ Did they alight on the road in the course of the 
night? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “They did.” 

A. G.: “ Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one 
of those two passengers ? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “ I cannot undertake to say that he was.” 


68 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

A. G.: “ Does he resemble either of those two passen¬ 
gers ? ”■ 

Mr. Lorry: “ Both were so wrapped up, and the night 
was so dark, and we were all so reserved, that I cannot 
undertake to say even that.” 

A. G.: “Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Sup¬ 
posing him wrapped up as those two passengers were, is 
there anything in his stature to render it unlikely that he 
was one of them ? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “ No.” 

A. G.: “So at least you say he may have been one of 
them? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “Yes, except that I remember them both 
to have been like myself, timorous of highwaymen, and the 
prisoner has not a timorous air.” 

A. G.: “ Mr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. 
Have you seen him, to your certain knowledge, before ? ” 

Mr. Lorry : “ I have.” 

A. G.: “When?” 

Mr. Lorry: “I was returning from France, a few days 
afterwards, and at Calais the prisoner came on board 
the boat in which I returned, and made the voyage with 
me.” 

A. G.: “ At what hour did he come on board? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “At a little after midnight.” 

A. G.: “ In the dead of the night. Was he the only pas¬ 
senger who came on board at that untimely hour ? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “He happened to be the only one.” 

A. G.: “Never mind about happening, Mr. Lorry. He 
was the only passenger who came on board in the dead of 
the night ? ” 

Mr. Lorry: “ He was.” 

A. G.: “Were you traveling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with 
any companions ? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 69 

Mr. Lorry: “With two companions. A gentleman and 
lady. They are here.” 

A. G.: “ They are here. Had you any conversation with 
the prisoner ? ” 

Mr. Lorry : “ Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and 
the passage long and rough, and I lay on a sofa, almost 
from shore to shore.” 

A. G.: “Miss Manette. ” 

The young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned be¬ 
fore, and were now turned again, stood up, where she had 
sat. Her father rose with her, and kept her hand drawn 
through his arm. 

A. G.: “Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner.” 

To be confronted with such pity and such earnest youth 
and beauty was far more trying to the accused than to be 
confronted with all the crowd. It was as if he were stand¬ 
ing apart with her on the edge of his grave. 

A. G.: “ Miss Manette, have you seen the prisoner be¬ 
fore? ” 

M. M.: “Yes, sir.” 

A. G.: “Where?” 

M. M.: “On board the boat just now referred to, and 
on the same occasion.” 

A. G.: “ You are the young lady just now referred to? ” 

M. M.: “ Oh, most unhappily I am.” 

Judge: “Answer the questions put to you, and make no 
remark upon them.” 

A. G.: “ Miss Manette, had you any conversation with 
the prisoner? ” 

M. M.: “Yes, sir.” 

A. G.: “Recall it.” 

M. M.: “When the gentleman came on board — ” 

Judge: “ Do you mean the prisoner? ” 

M. M.: “ Yes, my Lord.” 


70 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Judge: “Then say the prisoner/’ 

M. M.: “When the prisoner came on board, he noticed 
that my father was in a weak state of health. I was afraid 
to take him out of the air, and had made a bed for him on 
the deck near the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his 
side to take care of him. There were no other passengers 
but we four. The prisoner showed me how to shelter my 
father from the wind and weather better than I had done. 
I had not known how to do it well, not understanding how 
the wind would set when we were out of the harbor. He 
did it for me. He expressed great gentleness and kindness 
for my father, and I am sure he felt it.” 

A. G.: “ Let me interrupt you for a minute. Had he come 
on board alone ? ” 

M. M.: “No.” 

A. G.: “ How many were with him? ” 

M. M.: “Two French gentlemen.” 

A. G.: “ Had they conferred together? ” 

M. M.: “ They had conferred together until the last mo¬ 
ment, when it was necessary for the French gentlemen to be 
landed in their boat.” 

A. G.: “ Had any papers been handed about among 
them similar to these lists ? ” 

M. M.: “ Some papers had been handed about among 
them, but I don’t know what papers.” 

A. G.: “ Like these in shape and size? ” 

M. M.: “Possibly, but indeed I don’t know.” 

A. G.: “Now as to the prisoner’s conversation, Miss 
Manette ? ” 

M. M.: “ The prisoner was as open in his confidence with 
me — as he was kind and good and useful to my father. 
I hope,”— (beginning to weep) —“I may not repay him 
by doing him harm today.” 

A. G.: “Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not per- 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


71 


fectly understand that you give the evidence which it is 
your duty to give — which you must give — and which you 
cannot escape from giving — with great unwillingness, he 
is the only person present in that condition. Please to go 
on.” 

M. M.: “He told me that he was traveling on business 
of a delicate and difficult nature which might get people into 
trouble and that he was therefore traveling under an as¬ 
sumed name. He said that this business had, within a few 
days, taken him to France and might, at intervals, take 
him backwards and forwards between France and England 
for a long time to come.” 

A. G.: “ Did he say anything about America, Miss Ma- 
nette ? Be particular.” 

M. M.: “He tried to explain to me how that quarrel 
had arisen, and he said that, so far as he could judge, it was 
a wrong and foolish one on England’s part. He added, in a 
jesting way, that perhaps George Washington might gain 
almost as great a name in history as George the Third. 
But there 'was no harm in his way of saying this; it was 
said laughingly and to beguile the time.” 

Mr. Attorney-General now called the young lady’s father, 
Doctor Manette. 

“Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you 
ever seen him before? ” 

Dr. M.: “ Once at my lodgings in London, when he 
called there about three years or three years and a half 
ago.” 

A. G.: “ Can you identify him as your fellow passenger oh 
board the boat, or speak of his conversation with your 
daughter? ” 

Dr. M.: “Sir, I can do neither.” 

A. G.: “ Is there any particular reason for your being 
unable to do either? ” 


72 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Dr. M.: “There is.” 

A. G.: “ Has it been your misfortune to undergo a long 
imprisonment without trial, or even accusation, in your 
native country, Doctor Manette ? ” 

Dr. M.: “A long imprisonment.” 

A. G.: “Were you newly released on the occasion in 
question ? ” 

Dr. M.: “ They tell me so.” 

A. G.: “ Have you no remembrance of the occasion ? ” 

Dr. M.: “ None. My mind is a blank, for some time — 
I cannot even say what time — when I employed myself 
in my captivity in making shoes, to the time when I found 
myself living in London with my dear daughter here. She 
had become familiar to me, when a gracious God restored 
my faculties. But I am quite unable to say how she had 
become familiar. I have no remembrance of the process.” 

Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and 
daughter sat down together. 

A singular circumstance then arose in the case. The ob¬ 
ject in hand was to show that the prisoner went down in the 
Dover Mail on that Friday night in November five years 
ago, got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at a place 
where he did not remain, but traveled back a dozen miles 
to a garrison and dockyard, and there collected information. 
A witness was called to identify him as having been at that 
place at that precise time, in the coffee room of a hotel in 
that garrison and dockyard town. 

Mr. Stryver had cross-examined this witness with no 
result, except that he had never seen the prisoner on any 
other occasion. It looked as if the testimony of this witness 
would convict the prisoner, when Sydney Carton, the wigged 
gentleman who had all this time been looking at the ceiling, 
wrote a word or two on a little piece of paper, screwed it 
up, and tossed it to Stryver. After this gentleman had 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 73 

opened the paper in the next pause, he looked with great 
attention at the prisoner. Then he said to the witness: 

“ You say you are sure it was the prisoner whom you 
saw ? ” 

“ Quite sure.” 

“ Did you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?” 

“No; at least not so much like him as that I could be 
mistaken.” 

“ Look well upon my learned friend, there,” said Stryver, 
pointing to Carton, “ and then look well upon the prisoner. 
How say you? Are they very like each other? ” 

Allowing for my friend’s appearance being careless and 
slovenly, they were sufficiently like each other to surprise 
not only the witness, but everybody present. And when my 
learned friend there laid aside his wig (and giving no gra¬ 
cious consent when asked to do this), the likeness became 
much more remarkable. The Judge asked Mr. Stryver 
whether they were next to try Mr. Carton for treason. 
Mr. Stryver said “ No,” but he would ask the witness 
to tell him whether what happened once, might happen 
twice; whether he would have been so confident if he 
had seen this illustration of his rashness sooner, whether 
he would be so confident, having seen it; and more. 
The upshot of which was to smash this witness like a 
crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case to useless 
timber. 

Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust 
off his fingers in following the evidence. He had now to 
attend while Mr. Stryver fitted the prisoner’s case on the 
jury like a compact suit of clothes, showing them how 
the patriot Barsad was a hired spy and traitor, one of the 
greatest scoundrels upon the earth. How the virtuous 
servant, Cly, was his friend and partner, and was worthy 
to be; how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false 


74 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


swearers had rested on the prisoner as an easy victim, be¬ 
cause some family affairs in France did require those pas¬ 
sages across the Channel — though what those affairs were, 
a consideration for others forbade him to disclose. How 
the evidence, wrested from the young lady, whose anguish 
in giving it they had witnessed, came to nothing, with 
the exception of that reference to George Washington, 
which was altogether too extravagant and impossible to be 
regarded in any other light than as a monstrous joke. The 
case rested on nothing save that vile and infamous char¬ 
acter of evidence too often disfiguring such cases and of 
which the state trials of this country were full. But there 
the Judge interposed (with as grave a face as if it had not 
been true), saying that he could not sit upon that bench 
and permit those allusions. 

Mr. Cruncher had next to attend while Mr. Attorney- 
General turned the whole suit of clothes Mr. Stryver had 
fitted on the jury, inside out, showing how Barsad and Cly 
were even a hundred times better than he had thought 
them, and the prisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly 
came my Lord the Judge himself, turning the suit of clothes, 
now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole trimming 
and shaping them into grave clothes for the prisoner. 
And now the jury turned to consider. 

Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of 
the court, changed neither his place nor his attitude, even 
in this excitement. Something especially reckless in his 
demeanor not only gave him a disreputable look, but so 
diminished the strong resemblance he bore to the pris¬ 
oner (which his momentary earnestness had strengthened 
when they were compared together), that many of the on¬ 
lookers, taking note of him now, said they would hardly 
have thought the two were so alike. Mr. Cruncher made 
the observation to his neighbor, and added, “ I’d hold half 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 75 

a guinea that he don’t get no law work to do. Don’t look 
like the sort of one to get any, do he ? ” 

Yet this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the 
scene than he appeared to take in; for now, when Miss 
Manette’s head dropped upon her father’s breast, he was 
the first to see it, and to say audibly: 

“ Officer! Look to that young lady. Help the gentle¬ 
man to take her out. Don’t you see she will fall! ” 

There was much commiseration for her as she was re¬ 
moved and much sympathy for her father. It had evi¬ 
dently been a great distress to him to have the days of his 
imprisonment recalled. 

The jury spoke through their foreman, saying they were 
not agreed and wished to retire. — The trial had lasted all 
day, and the lamps in the court were now being lighted. 
It began to be rumored that the jury would be out a long 
time. The spectators dropped off to get refreshment, and 
the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock and sat 
down. 

Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and 
her father went out, now reappeared, and beckoned to 
Jerry, who in the slackened interest could easily get near 
him. 

“ Jerry, if you wish to get something to eat you can, but 
keep in the way. You will be sure to hear them when the 
jury come in. Don’t be a moment behind them, for I want 
you to take the verdict back to the bank. You are the 
quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar long 
before I can.” 

Jerry knuckled his forehead in acknowledgment of this 
and a shilling. 

Mr. Carton came up at that moment and touched Mr. 
Lorry on the arm: 

“ How is the young lady ? ” 


76 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

“ She is greatly distressed, but her father is comforting 
her, and she feels the better for being out of court.” 

“ I’ll tell the prisoner so. It won’t do for a respectable 
bank gentleman like you to be seen speaking to him pub¬ 
licly, you know.” 

Mr. Lorry reddened, as if he were conscious of having de¬ 
bated the point in his mind, and Mr. Carton went to the 
outside of the bar. The way out of court lay in that direc¬ 
tion, and Jerry followed him, all ears, eyes, and spikes. 

“ Mr. Darnay.” 

The prisoner came forward directly. 

“ You will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, 
Miss Manette. She will do very well. You have seen the 
worst of her agitation.” 

“ I am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could 
you tell her so for me, with my fervent acknowledgments ? ” 

“ Yes, I could. I will, if you ask it.” 

“ I do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks.” 

“ What do you expect, Mr. Darnay ? ” 

“ The worst.” 

“ It’s the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But 
I think their withdrawing is in your favor.” 

An hour and a half limped heavily away, even though 
assisted off with mutton pies and ale. Jerry the messen¬ 
ger, uncomfortably seated on a bench, had dropped into 
a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapid tide of people 
coming up the stairs that led to the court, carried him 
along with them. 

“ Jerry, Jerry,” Mr. Lorry was already at the door when 
he got there. 

“ Here, sir, it’s a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir.” 

Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng. 

“ Quick. Have you got it ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


77 


Hastily written on the paper was the word acquitted. 

“ If you had sent the message recalled to life again/’ mut¬ 
tered Jerry to himself, as he turned, “ I should have known 
what you meant, this time.” 

He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as think¬ 
ing, anything else until he was clear of the Old Bailey, for 
the crowd came pouring out with a vehemence that nearly 
took him off his legs. 



F ROM the dimly lighted passages of the court Doctor 
Manette, Lucie Manette, Mr. Lorry, and Mr. Stryver 
stood gathered round Mr. Charles Darnay, congratulating 
him on his escape from death. 

It would have been difficult to recognize in Doctor 
Manette, intellectual of face, and upright of bearing, the 
shoemaker of the garret in Paris. A reference to his long 
lingering agony would always — as on this occasion — draw 









78 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


a gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unac¬ 
quainted with his story as if they had seen the shadow of 
the actual Bastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, 
when the substance was three hundred miles away. Only 
his daughter had the power of charming this black brooding 
from his mind. She was the golden thread that united him 
to a Past beyond his misery, and to a Present beyond his 
misery. The sound of her voice, the light of her face, the 
touch of her hand had a-strong beneficial influence with 
him. Not absolutely always, for she could recall some 
occasions on which her power had failed, but they were few 
and slight, and she believed them over. 

Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and grate¬ 
fully, and had turned to Mr. Stryver, his lawyer, whom 
he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver, a little more than thirty, 
but looking twenty years older, stout, loud, red, bluff, free 
from any drawback of delicacy, had a way of pushing and 
shouldering himself into companies that argued well for his 
shouldering his way up in life. He still had his wig and gown 
on, and he said, squaring himself at his late client to that de¬ 
gree that he squeezed the innocent Mr. Lorry clean out of 
the group: 

“ I am glad to have brought you off with honor, Mr. 
Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly infa¬ 
mous, but not the less likely to succeed on that account.” 

“ You have laid me under an obligation to you for life,” 
said his client, taking his hand. 

“ I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay, and my best 
is as good as another man’s, I believe.” 

It being incumbent on some one to say, “ Much better,” 
Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but 
with the interested object of squeezing himself back again. 

“ You think so? ” said Mr. Stryver; “ well, you ought to 
know. You are a man of business, too.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 79 

“And as such,” said Mr. Lorry, whom the counsel 
learned in the law had now shouldered back into the group, 
just as he had previously shouldered him out of it — “ as 
such I will appeal to Doctor Manette, to break up this con¬ 
ference and order us all to our homes. Miss Lucie looks 
ill, Mr. Darnay has had a terrible day. We are worn 
out.” 

“ Speak for yourself, Mr. Lorry,” said Stryver; “ I have 
a night’s work to do yet. Speak for yourself.” 

“ I speak for myself,” answered Mr. Lorry, “ and for Mr. 
Darnay, and for Miss Lucie, and — Miss Lucie, do you 
not think I may speak for us all ? ” He asked her the ques¬ 
tion pointedly, and with a glance at her father. 

Doctor Manette’s face had become frozen, as it were, in 
a very curious look at Darnay: an intent look, deepening 
into a frown of dislike and distrust, not even unmixed with 
fear. With this strange expression on him his thoughts had 
wandered away. 

“ My father,” said Lucie, softly laying her hand on his. 

He slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her. 

“ Shall we go home, my father? ” 

With a long breath, he answered, “ Yes.” 

The friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed under 
the impression — which he himself had originated — that 
he would not be released that night. The lights were nearly 
all extinguished in the passages, the iron gates were being 
closed with a jar and a rattle, and the dismal place was 
deserted until tomorrow morning's interest of gallows, pil¬ 
lory, whipping post, and branding iron should repeople 
it. Walking between her father and Mr. Darnay, Lucie 
Manette passed into the open air. A hackney coach was 
called, and the father and daughter departed in it. 

Mr. Stryver had left them in the passages, to shoulder 
his way back to the robing room, where the lawyers took 


80 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


off the robes that they wore in court. Another person, 
who had not joined the group or interchanged a word with 
any one of them, but who had been leaning against the wall 
where its shadow was darkest, had silently strolled out after 
the rest, and had looked on until the coach drove away. 
He now stepped up to where Mr. Lorry and Mr. Darnay 
stood upon the pavement. 

“So, Mr. Lorry! Men of business may speak to Mr. 
Darnay now ? ” 

Nobody had made any acknowledgment of Mr. Carton’s 
part in the day’s proceedings; nobody had known of it. 
He was unrobed, and was none the better for it in appear¬ 
ance. 

“ If you knew what a conflict goes on in the business 
mind, when the business mind is divided between good- 
natured impulse and business appearances, you would be 
amused, Mr. Darnay.” 

Mr. Lorry reddened, and he said, warmly: 

“ You have mentioned that before, sir. We men of busi¬ 
ness who serve a house are not our own masters. We have 
to think of the house more than ourselves.” 

“ I know, I know,” rejoined Mr. Carton, carelessly. 
“ Don’t be nettled, Mr. Lorry. You are as good as an¬ 
other, I have no doubt; better, I dare say.” 

“ And indeed, sir,” pursued Mr. Lorry, not minding him, 
“ I really don’t know what you have to do with the matter. 
If you’ll excuse me, as very much your elder, for saying 
so, I really don’t know that it is your business.” 

“Business! Bless you, I have no business,” said Mr. 
Carton. 

“ It is a pity you have not, sir.” 

“ I think so, too.” 

“ If you had, perhaps you would attend to it.” 

“ Lord love you, no! — I shouldn’t,” said Mr. Carton. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


81 


“Well, sir! ” said Mr. Lorry, thoroughly heated by his 
indifference, " business is a very good thing, and a very 
respectable thing. And, sir, if business imposes its restraints 
and its silences and impediments, Mr. Darnay as a young 
gentleman of generosity knows how to make allowance for 
that circumstance. Mr. Darnay, good night, God bless you, 
sir! I hope you have been this day preserved for a pros¬ 
perous and happy life. — Chair there! ” 

Perhaps a little angry with himself, as well as with the 
attorney, Mr. Lorry bustled into the sedan chair, carried 
by two men, and was taken in this manner to Tellson’s 
Bank. 

Carton, who smelt of port wine and did not appear to be 
quite sober, laughed then and turned to Darnay. 

“ This is a strange chance that throws you and me to¬ 
gether. This must be a strange night to you, standing alone 
with your counterpart on these street stones ? ” 

“ I hardly seem yet to belong to this world again,” re¬ 
turned Charles Darnay. 

“ I don’t wonder at it. It’s not so long since you were 
pretty far advanced on your way to another. You speak 
faintly.” 

“ I begin to think I am faint.” 

“ Then why the devil don’t you dine ? I dined, myself, 
while those numbskulls were deliberating which world you 
should belong to, this or some other. Let me show you 
the nearest tavern to dine well at.” 

Drawing Mr. Darnay’s arm through his own, he took 
him down Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street, and so up a covered 
way into a tavern. Here they were shown into a little room 
where Charles Darnay was soon recruiting his strength with 
a good plain dinner, while Carton sat opposite to him at the 
same table, with his separate bottle of port before him 
and his half insolent manner upon him. 


82 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Do you feel yet that you belong to this terrestrial 
scheme again, Mr. Darnay?” 

“ I am frightfully confused regarding time and place, but 
I am so far mended as to feel that.” 

“ It must be an immense satisfaction.” 

He said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again, saying: 

“ As to me, the greatest desire I have is to forget that I 
belong to it. It has no good in it for me — except wine 
like this — nor I for it. So we are not much alike in that 
particular. I begin to think we are not much alike in any 
particular.” 

Confused by the emotions of the day, and feeling his be-* 
ing here with this double of coarse deportment to be like 
a dream, Charles Darnay was at a loss how to answer; 
finally, answered not at all. 

“ Now your dinner is done, why don’t you call a health, 
Mr. Darnay; why don’t you give a toast?” 

“What health? What toast?” 

“ Why, it’s on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be. 
It must be. I’ll swear it’s there.” 

“ Miss Manette, then.” 

“ Miss Manette, then.” 

Looking his companion full in the face while he drank 
the toast, Carton flung the glass over his shoulder against 
the wall, where it shivered to pieces. Then he rang the 
bell and ordered in another. 

“ That’s a fair young lady to be handed to a coach in the 
dark, Mr. Darnay,” Carton said, filling his new goblet. 

A slight frown and a laconic “ Yes ” were the answer. 

“ That’s a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for 
by. How does it feel? Is it worth being tried for one’s 
life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, 
Mr. Darnay?” 

Again Darnay answered not a word. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


83 


“ She was mightily pleased to have your message, when 
I gave it to her. Not that she showed she was pleased, but I 
suppose she was.” 

The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that 
this disagreeable companion had, of his own free will, 
assisted him in the strait of the day, and he thanked him 
for it. 

“ I neither want any thanks nor merit any,” was the 
careless rejoinder. “ It was nothing to do in the first 
place, and I don’t know why I did it in the second. Mr. 
Darnay, let me ask you a question.” 

“ Willingly, and a small return for your good offices.” 

“ Do you think I particularly like you ? ” 

“ Really, Mr. Carton, I have not asked myself the ques¬ 
tion.” 

“ But ask yourself the question now.” 

“You have acted as if you do; but I don’t think that 
you do.” 

“ I don’t think I do. I begin to have a very good opinion 
of your understanding.” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Darnay, rising to ring the bell, 
“there is nothing in that, I hope, to prevent my calling 
the reckoning and our parting without ill blood on either 
side?” 

Carton rejoining, “Nothing in life,” Darnay rang. 

“ Do you call the whole reckoning ? ” said Carton. When 
Darnay answered in the affirmative, he said: 

“ Then bring me another pint of this same wine, waiter, 
and come and wake me at ten.” 

The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished 
him good night. Without returning the wish, Carton rose, 
too, with something of a threat of defiance in his manner: 

“ A last word, Mr. Darnay. You think I am drunk? ” 

“ I think you have been drinking, Mr. Carton.” 


84 


A TALE 0E TWO CITIES 


“Think? You know I have been drinking” 

“Since I must say so, I know it.” 

“ Then you shall likewise know why. I am a disap¬ 
pointed drudge, sir. I care for no man on earth, and no 
man on earth cares for me.” 

“Much to be regretted. You might have used your 
talents better.” 

“Maybe so, Mr. Darnay, maybe not. Don’t let your 
sober face elate you, however. You don’t know what it 
may come to. Good night.” 

When he was left alone, this strange being took up a 
candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and 
surveyed himself minutely in it. 

“ Do you particularly like the man ? ” he muttered, at 
his own image. “ Why should you particularly like a man 
who resembles you? There is nothing in you to like; you 
know that. Ah! confound you! What a change you have 
made in yourself. A good reason for taking to a man, that 
he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what 
you might have been. Change places with him, and would 
you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was and 
commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come 
on, and have it out in plain words. You hate the fellow.” 

He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it 
all in a few minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his 
hair straggling over the table and a long winding sheet 
in the candle dripping down upon him. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


85 


CHAPTER III 
THE JACKAL 

T HOSE were drinking days, and most men drank hard. 

So very great is the improvement Time has brought 
about in such habits that a moderate statement of the 
quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow 
in the course of a night, without any detriment to his repu¬ 
tation as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, 
a ridiculous exaggeration. The learned profession of the 
law was certainly not behind any other learned profession 
in its bacchanalian propensities. Neither was Mr. Stryver, 
already fafet shouldering his way to a large and profitable 
practice, behind his compeers in this respect, any more 
than in other parts of the legal race. 

A favorite at the Old Bailey, he was constantly advanc¬ 
ing in law practice. Shouldering itself towards the visage 
of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King’s Bench, 
the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, 
bursting out of the bed of wigs, like a great sunflower push¬ 
ing its way at the sun from among a rank gardenful of 
flaring companions. 

It had once been noted at the bar that, while Mr. 
Stryver was a glib man and an unscrupulous and a ready 
and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the es¬ 
sence from a heap of statements which is among the most 
striking and necessary of an attorney’s accomplishments. 
But a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. 
The more business he got, the greater his power seemed to 
grow of getting at the most important points; and however 
late at night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, he always 
had his points at his fingers’ ends in the morning. 

Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, 


86 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


was Stryver’s great ally. What the two drank together 
between January and December might have floated a king’s 
ship. Stryver never had a case in hand, anywhere, but Car¬ 
ton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the 
ceiling of the court. They went the same circuit, and even 
there they prolonged their orgies late into the night, and 
Carton was rumored to be seen at broad dajq going home 
stealthily and unsteadily to his lodgings, like, a dissipated 
cat. At last, it began to get about, among such as were 
interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton 
would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and 
that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble 
capacity 1 

“ Ten o’clock, sir,” said the man at the tavern, whom he 
had charged to wake him; “ ten o’clock, sir.” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” 

“ Ten o’clock, sir.” 

“What do you mean? Ten o’clock at night?” 

“ Yes, sir. Your honor told me to call you.” 

“ Oh, I remember. Very well. Very well.” 

After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the 
man combatted by noisily stirring the fire continuously for 
five minutes, he got up and walked out. He turned into 
the Temple, and having revived himself by twice pacing 
the pavement, turned into the Stryver apartments, and was 
admitted by the Stryver principal, who had his slippers on 
and a loose bed gown. 

“ You are a little late, Memory,” said Stryver. 

“About the usual time. It may be a quarter of an 
hour later.” 

They went into a dingy room, lined with books and 
littered with papers. There was a blazing fire, and a kettle 

1 The lion brings down his prey, and after he has satisfied his ap¬ 
petite the jackal feeds on what is left. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


87 


steamed upon the hob. In the midst of the wreck of pa¬ 
pers, a table shone, with plenty of wine upon it, brandy, 
rum, sugar, and lemons. 

“ You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney.” 

“ Two tonight, I think. I have been dining with the 
day’s client, or seeing him dine; it’s all one.” 

“ That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to 
bear upon the identification. How did you come by it? 
When did it strike you ? ” 

“ I thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I 
thought I should have been much the same sort of fellow, 
if I had had any luck.” 

Mr. Stryver laughed. 

“You and your luck, Sydney. Get to work. Get to 
work.” 

Sullenly enough the jackal loosened his dress, went into 
an adjoining room, and came back with a large jug of cold 
water, and a towel or two. Steeping the towels in the water 
and partially wringing them out, he folded them on his 
head, sat down at the table, and said: 

“ Now I am ready.” 

“ Not much boiling down to be done tonight, Memory,” 
said Mr. Stryver gaily. 

“ How much? ” 

“ Only two sets of them.” 

“ Give me the worst first.” 

There they are, Sidney. Fire away.” 

Stryver then composed himself on his back on one side 
of the drinking table, with his hands in his waistband. 
Both resorted to the drinking table without stint, but each 
in a different way. The lion, Stryver, drank and then 
dozed in between whiles. The jackal sat with knitted brows 
and intent face, so deep in his task that his eyes did not 
even follow the hand he stretched out for his glass, which 


88 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


often groped about for a minute or two before it found -the 
glass for his lips. Two or three times the matter in hand 
became so knotty that the jackal had to go and steep his- 
towels anew. From these pilgrimages to the jug and basin 
he returned with eccentricities of headgear that no words 
can describe which were made the more ludicrous by his 
anxious gravity. 

At length Carton had straightened out the work for 
the next day and explained the methods and details of the 
cases which Stryver would have in court. At length the 
jackal had got together a repast for the lion and offered it 
to him. The lion took it with care and caution, made his 
selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal 
assisted at both. 

“And now we have done, Sydney, fill a bumper of 
punch.” 

The jackal removed the towels from his head, which had 
been steaming again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and 
complied. 

“ You were very sound, Sydney, in the matter of those 
crown witnesses, today. Every question told.” 

“ I always am sound, am I not ? ” 

“I don’t gainsay it. "What has roughened your temper? 
Put some punch to it and smooth it again.” 

With a deprecatory grunt, the jackal again complied. 

“ The old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School,” said 
Stryver, “ the old seesaw Sydney, up one minute, and down 
the next; now T in spirits and now in despondency.” 

“Ah,” returned the other sighing; “yes, the same Syd¬ 
ney, with the same luck. Even then, I did exercises for 
other boys and seldom did my own.” 

“ And why not ? ” 

“ God knows. It was my way, I suppose.” 

- “ Carton,” his friend said, in a bullying tone, “ your way 


• THE GOLDEN THREAD 89 

is and always was a lame way. Look at me. You summon 
no energy and purpose.” 

“ Oh, botheration,” returned Sydney, with a lighter and 
more good humored laugh. “ Don’t you be moral.” 

“ How have I done what I have done ? ” said Stryver. 
“ How do I do what I do ? ” 

“ Partly through paying me to help you, I suppose. But 
it’s not worth your while to apostrophize me or the air 
about it. What you want to do, you do. You were always 
in the front rank, and I was always behind.” 

“ I had to get into the front rank. I was not born 
there, was I ? ” 

“ I was not present at the ceremony, but my opinion is, 
you were,” said Carton. At this, he laughed again, and they 
both laughed. 

“ Before Shrewsbury and at Shrewsbury, and ever since 
Shrewsbury,” pursued Carton, “ you have fallen into your 
rank, and I have fallen into mine. Even when we were 
fellow students in the Student Quarter of Paris, picking 
up French and French law and other French crumbs that 
we didn’t^get much good of, you were always somewhere, 
and I was always nowhere.” 

“ And whose fault w T as that ? ” 

“ Upon my soul I am not sure that it was not yours. 
You were always driving and riving and shouldering and 
pressing to that restless degree that I had no chance for 
my life but in rest and repose. It’s a gloomy thing, how¬ 
ever, to talk about one’s own past, with the day breaking. 
Turn me in some other direction before I go.” 

“Well, then! Pledge me to the pretty witness,” said 
Stryver, holding up his glass. “Are you turned in a 
pleasant direction ? ” 

Apparently not, for he became gloomy again. 

“ Pretty witness,” he muttered, looking down into his 


90 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES' 


glass. “ I have had enough of witnesses today and tonight. 
Who’s your pretty witness ? ” 

“ The picturesque doctor’s daughter, Miss Manette.” 

“She pretty?” 

“ Is she not ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Why man alive, she was the admiration of the whole 
court! ” 

“ Rot the admiration of the whole court! Who made 
the Old Bailey a judge of beauty? She was a golden-haired 
doll.” 

“Do you know, Sydney, I rather thought at the time 
that you sympathized with the golden-haired doll, and 
were quick to see what happened to the golden-haired 
doll? ” 

“ Quick to see what happened! If a girl, doll or no doll, 
faints within a yard or two of a man’s nose, he can see it 
without a telescope. I pledge you, but I deny the beauty. 
And now I’ll have no more drink. I’ll get to bed.” 

When his host followed him out on the staircase with 
a candle, to light him down the stairs, the day jyas coldly 
looking in through its grimy windows. When he came 
out of the house, the air was cold and sad, the dull sky 
overcast, the river dark and dim. The whole scene was 
like a lifeless desert. Wreaths of dust were spinning round 
and round before the morning blast, as if the desert sand had 
risen far away, and the first spray of it in its advance had 
begun to overwhelm the city. 

Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this 
man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw 
for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage 
of: Honorable Ambition, Self-denial , and Perseverance. 

In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries 
from which the loves and graces looked upon him; gardens 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


91 

in which the fruits of life hung ripening; waters of Hope 
that sparkled in his sight. A moment and it was gone. 
Climbing to a high room, in a well of houses, he threw 
himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow 
was wet with wasted tears. 

Sadly, sadly, the sun rose. It rose upon no sadder 
sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, 
incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own 
help and his own happiness; sensible of the blight on him 
and resigning himself to let it eat him away. 


CHAPTER IV 
HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE 

T HE quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a 
quiet street corner not far from Soho Square. On the 
afternoon of a certain fine Sunday, four months after the 
trial for treason, Mr. Jarvis Lorry walked along the sunny 
streets from Clerkenwell where he lived, on his way to 
dine with the Doctor. Mr. Lorry spent every Sunday after¬ 
noon and evening in the Manette home. On this certain 
fine Sunday he went earlier than usual, for he had some 
doubts in his mind which he wished to solve, and knew 
how the ways of the Doctor’s household pointed to that 
time as a likely time for solving them. 

A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor 
lived was not to be found in London. There was no way 
through it, and the front windows of the Doctor’s lodgings 
commanded a pleasant view of forest trees, wild flowers, and 
fields where the hawthorn blossomed. There was also 
many a good south wall, not far off, on which the peaches 
ripened in their season. 


92 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


The summer sun struck into the corner brilliantly in 
the earlier part of the day; but when the streets grew 
hot, the comer was in shadow, though not in shadow 
so remote but that you could see beyond it into a glare 
of brightness. It was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a 
wonderful place for echoes, and a very harbor from the 
raging streets. 

The Doctor occupied two floors of a large, still house 
where a number of people lived, but little of whom was ever 
seen or heard. In a building at the back, attainable by a 
courtyard, where a plane tree rustled its green leaves, 
church organs claimed to be made, and silver and gold to 
be hammered and chased; but very little of these trades, or 
of a lonely lodger rumored to live upstairs, or of a coach 
trimmer, or of a counting-house below was seen. The 
sparrows in the plane tree behind the house and the echoes 
in the corner before it had their own way from Sunday 
morning until Saturday night. 

Doctor Manette received such patients here as his old 
reputation and its revival in the floating whispers of his 
story brought him. His scientific knowledge and skill in 
conducting ingenious experiments brought him into mod¬ 
erate request, and he earned as much as he wanted. 

These things were within Mr. Jarvis Lorry’s knowledge, 
thoughts, and notice when he rang the door bell of the 
tranquil house in the corner, on the fine Sunday afternoon. 

“ Doctor Manette at home ? ” 

Expected home. 

“ Miss Lucie at home ? ” 

Expected home. 

“ Miss Pross at home ? ” 

Possibly at home but impossible for maid to know 
whether Miss Pross wished an admission or denial of the 
fact. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 93 

“ As I am at home myself/’ said Mr. Lorry, “ I’ll go 
upstairs.” 

Lucie was an ideal home maker and housekeeper. Simple 
as the furniture was, it was set off by so many little adorn¬ 
ments of no value but for their taste and fancy that the 
interior of the Manette home was delightful. There were 
three rooms on a floor, and the doors by which they com¬ 
municated being put open that the air might pass through 
them all, Mr. Lorry smilingly walked from one to an¬ 
other. The first was the best room. In it were Lucie’s 
birds, flowers, books, desk, work table and box of water 
colors. The second was the Doctor’s consulting room, used 
also as the dining room. The third was the Doctor’s bed¬ 
room. At the open door of this room Mr. Lorry paused. 
There, in a corner, stood the shoemaker’s bench and tray 
of tools. 

“ I wonder,” said Mr. Lorry aloud, “ that he keeps that 
reminder of his sufferings about him! ” 

“ And why wonder at that ? ” was the abrupt inquiry, 
that made him start. It proceeded from Miss Pross, the 
wild red woman, strong of hand, whose acquaintance he 
had first made at Dover and had since improved. 

“ I should have thought — ” began Mr. Lorry. 

“ Pooh! You’d have thought,” interrupted Miss Pross. 

“ How do you do ? ” inquired that lady then, sharply, 
and yet as if to express that she bore him no malice. 

“I am pretty well, I thank you. How are you?” 

“ Nothing to boast of.” 

“ Indeed.” 

“ Ah! indeed! I am very much put out about my 
Ladybird.” 

“ Indeed? ” 

“ For gracious sake, say something else besides ‘ indeed,’ 
or you’ll fidget me to death.” 


94 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Really, then? ” 

“ Really is bad enough, but better. Yes, I am very 
much put out.” 

“May I ask the cause?” said Mr. Lorry. 

“ I don’t want dozens of people, who are not at all worthy 
of Ladybird, to come here looking after her.” 

“Do dozens come here for that purpose?” 

“ Hundreds,” said Miss Pross. 

“ Dear me,” said Mr. Lorry, as the safest remark he 
could make. 

“ All sorts of people who are not in the least degree 
worthy of the pet are always turning up. When you 
began it — ” 

“ I began it, Miss Pross ? ” 

“ Didn’t you ? Who brought her father to life ? ” 

“ Oh, if that was beginning it — ” 

“ It wasn’t ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began 
it, it was hard enough; not that I have any fault to find 
with Doctor Manette, except that he is not worthy of such 
a daughter, which is no imputation on him, for it was not 
to be expected that anybody should be, under any circum¬ 
stances. But it really is doubly and trebly hard to have 
crowds and multitudes of people turning up after him 
(I could have forgiven him), to take Ladybird’s affections 
away from me. There never was, nor will be, but one man 
worthy of Ladybird, and that was my brother Solomon, 
if he hadn’t made a mistake in life.” (Some time before 
this Mr. Lorry had learned that Miss Pross’s brother was 
a heartless scoundrel, who had taken everything she pos¬ 
sessed to speculate with, and had abandoned her in her 
poverty.) 

“ As we happen to be alone for the moment and are both 
people of business,” he said, when they had sat down in the 
drawing-room of the simple little home, “ let me ask you, — 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 95 

does the Doctor, in talking with Lucie, never refer to the 
shoemaking time, yet ? ” 

“ Never.” 

And yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him? ” 

“Ah! but I don’t say he never refers to it within him¬ 
self.” 

“ Do you believe that he thinks of it much ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ Do you suppose that Doctor Manette has any theory 
of his own about the cause of his being imprisoned, even 
to the name of his oppressor ? ” 

“ I don’t suppose anything about it but what Ladybird 
tells me.” 

“ And that is — ” 

“ That she thinks he has.” 

“ Is it not remarkable that Doctor Manette should never 
talk upon that subject? I will not say with me, though 
he had business relations with me many years ago, and 
we are now intimate; I will say, with the fair daughter, 
to whom he is so devotedly attached and who is so de¬ 
votedly attached to him. Believe me, Miss Pross, I don’t 
approach the topic with you out of curiosity, but out of a 
desire to help him.” 

“ Well, to the best of my understanding, and bad’s the 
best you’ll tell me, he’s afraid of the whole subject.” 

“ Afraid?” 

“ It’s plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It’s 
a dreadful remembrance. His loss of himself grew out 
of it. Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he re¬ 
covered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing him¬ 
self again. That alone wouldn’t make the subject pleasant, 

I should think.” 

It 'was a profounder remark than Mr. Lorry had ex¬ 
pected. 


96 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

“ True, and fearful to reflect upon. Yet a doubt lurks 
in my mind, Miss Pross, whether it is good for Doctor 
Manette to have that suppression always shut up within 
him; whether it wouldn’t be better for him to talk about 
these things sometimes.” 

“Can’t be helped. Touch that thought, and he in¬ 
stantly changes for the worse. Better leave it alone. In 
short, must leave it alone, like or no like. Sometimes he 
gets up in the dead of the night and will be heard by us 
overhead, walking up and down, walking up and down 
in his room. Ladybird has learned to know then that 
his mind is walking up and down, walking up and down 
in his old prison cell. She hurries down to him, and 
they go on together, walking up and down, walking up 
and down, until he is composed. But he never says a word 
of the true reason of his restlessness to her, and she finds 
it best not to hint at it to him. In silence they go walking 
up and down, walking up and down together, till her 
love and company have brought him to himself.” 

The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful cor¬ 
ner for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to 
the tread of coming feet that it seemed as though the 
very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it 
going. 

“ Here they are! ” said Miss Pross, rising to break up 
the conference; “and now we shall have hundreds of peo¬ 
ple pretty soon! ” 

It was such a curious corner in its echoes that as Mr. 
Lorry stood at the open window, looking for the father 
and daughter whose steps he heard, he fancied they would 
never approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as 
though the steps had gone, but echoes of other steps that 
never came would be heard in their stead and would die 
away for good when they seemed close at hand. However, 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 97 

father and daughter did at last appear, and Miss Pross 
was ready at the street door to receive them. 

Miss Pross was a pleasant sight, albeit wild and red and 
grim, taking off her darling’s bonnet when she came up¬ 
stairs and touching it up with the ends of her handkerchief, 
and blowing the dust off it, and folding her mantle ready for 
laying by, and smoothing her rich hair with as much 
pride as she could possibly have taken in her own hair if 
she had been the vainest and handsomest of women. 

Dinner time and still no Hundreds of people. In the 
arrangement of the little household, Miss Pross took charge 
of the kitchen and always acquitted herself marvelously. 
Her dinners, of a very modest quality, were always very 
w r ell cooked and very well served. They were so neat in 
their contrivances, half-English and half-French, that noth¬ 
ing could be better. Miss Pross’s friendship was of the 
thoroughly practical kind. She had ravaged Soho and 
the adjacent provinces in search of poor French people 
whom she would pay to teach her French cooking. From 
these poor people she had acquired such wonderful arts 
that the woman and girl who formed the staff of domestics 
regarded her as quite a sorceress, or Cinderella’s godmother; 
who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, a vegetable or two 
from the garden, and change them into anything she pleased. 

On Sundays, Miss Pross dined at the Doctor’s table, 
but on other days persisted in taking her meals at unknown 
periods. On this occasion, Miss Pross, responding to Lady¬ 
bird’s pleasant face and pleasant efforts to please her, 
unbent exceedingly; so the dinner was very pleasant, too. 

It was an oppressive day, and after dinner they went 
out under the beautiful plane tree in the yard. Still the 
hundreds of people did not present themselves. Mr. Darnay 
presented himself, while they were sitting under the plane 
tree, but he was only one. Doctor Manette received him 


98 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


kindly, and so did Lucie; but Miss Pross suddenly became 
afflicted with a twitching in the head and body, and retired 
into the house. She was frequently the victim of this 
disorder, and she called it a “ fit of the jerks.” 

The Doctor was in his best condition and looked espe¬ 
cially young. The resemblance between him and Lucie was 
very strong, as they sat side by side, she leaning on his 
shoulder, and he resting his arm on the back of her chair. 

“Doctor Manette,” said Mr. Darnay, who had been 
talking with them about old buildings of London, “ have 
you seen much of the Tower? ” 

“ Lucie and I have been there, but only casually. We 
have seen enough of it, though, to kn^w that it teems with 
interest, little more.” 

“ I have been there, as you remember,” said Darnay with 
a smile, though reddening a little angrily, “ in another char¬ 
acter and not in one that gives facilities for seeing much. 
They told me a curious thing when I was there.” 

“ What was that ? ” asked Lucie. 

“ In making some alterations they came upon an old 
dungeon, forgotten for many years. Every stone was 
covered with inscriptions by prisoners. Upon a corner 
stone, one prisoner, who seemed to have gone to execution, 
had cut three letters, d-i-g. The floor was examined very 
carefully and in the earth beneath a stone were found the 
ashes of a paper, mingled with the ashes of a small leathern 
case. What the unknown prisoner had written will never 
be read, but he had written something and hidden it away 
to keep it from the jailors.” 

“ My father! ” exclaimed Lucie, “ you are ill! ” 

He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. 
His manner and his look quite terrified them all. 

“No, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain 
falling, and they made me start. We had better go in.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


99 


He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really 
falling in large drops. He showed the back of his hand 
with rain drops on it. But he said not a single word in ref¬ 
erence to the discovery that had been told of. Yet, as they 
went into the house, the business eye of Mr. Lorry detected 
on his face, as it turned towards Charles Darnay, the same 
singular look that had been upon it when it turned towards 
him in the passages of the court. He recovered himself 
so quickly, however, that Mr. Lorry had doubts of his 
business eye. 

Tea time and Miss Pross making tea, with another fit of 
the jerks; yet no hundreds of people came. Mr. Carton 
had lounged in, but he made only two. 

The night was so very sultry that, although they sat 
with doors and windows open, they were overpowered by 
heat. When the tea table was done with, they all moved 
to the windows, and looked out into the heavy twilight. 
Lucie sat by her father, Darnay sat beside her, and Carton 
leaned against a window. The curtains were long and 
white, and some of the thunder gusts that whirled into the 
place caught them up to the ceiling and waved them like 
spectral wings. 

“ The rain drops* are still falling, large, heavy, and 
few,” said Doctor Manette. “ It comes slowly.” 

“ It comes surely,” said Carton. 

There was a great hurry in the streets, of people speed¬ 
ing away to get shelter before the storm broke. The won¬ 
derful corner for echoes resounded with the echoes 
of footsteps coming and going, yet not a footstep was 
there. 

“ Is it not impressive, Mr. Darnay ? ” asked Lucie. 
“ Sometimes when I have sat here listening, I have made 
the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that 
are coming by and by into our lives.” 


100 a TALE OF TWO CITIES 

“ There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, 
if that be so,” Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way. 

The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them 
became more and more rapid, all in the distant streets and 
not one in sight. 

“ Are all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, 
Miss Manette? or are we to divide them among us? ” 

“ I don’t know, Mr. Darnay. It is a foolish fancy; but 
when I have been here alone sometimes, I have imagined 
them to be the footsteps of the people who are to come into 
my life and my father’s.” 

“ I take them into mine,” said Carton. “ I ask no ques¬ 
tions and make no stipulations. — Here they come, fast, 
fierce and furious.” 

It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it 
stopped him, for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable 
storm of thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of 
water, and there was not a moment’s interval in crash, and 
fire, and rain, until after the moon rose at midnight. 

The great bell of Saint Paul’s was striking one in the 
cleared air when Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted 
and bearing a lantern, set forth on his return passage. 
There were solitary patches of road 'on the way between 
Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of footpads, 
always retained Jerry for this service every Sunday eve¬ 
ning, though it was usually two hours earlier. 

“ What a night it has been! almost a night, Jerry, to 
bring the dead out of their graves! ” 

“ I never see the night, myself, master, — nor yet I dont 
expect to — what would do that.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


101 


CHAPTER V 

THE MARQUIS ST. EVREMONDE IN CITY AND 
COUNTRY 

M ONSEIGNEUR, one of the great lords in power at 
the Court of France, held his fortnightly reception in 
his grand mansion in Paris. Monseigneur was in his room, 
his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiest to the 
crowd of worshipers in the suite of rooms without. Mon¬ 
seigneur was about to take his chocolate. Monseigneur 
could swallow a great many things with ease and was sup¬ 
posed, by some few sullen minds, to be rather rapidly 
swallowing France; but his'morning’s chocolate could not 
so much as get into the throat of Monseigneur, without 
the aid of four strong men besides the cook. 

Yes, it took four men, all four ablaze with gorgeous 
decoration, and the chief of them unable to exist with fewer 
than two gold watches in his pocket, to conduct the choco¬ 
late to Monseigneur’s lips. One servant carried the choc¬ 
olate pot into the sacred presence; a second milled and 
frothed the chocolate with the little instrument he bore for 
that purpose; a third presented the favored napkin; a 
fourth (he of the two gold watches) poured the chocolate 
out. It was impossible for Monseigneur to dispense with 
one of these attendants on the chocolate and hold his high 
place under the admiring Heavens. Deep would have been 
the blot upon his escutcheon if his chocolate had been 
ignobly waited on by only three men; he must have died 
of two. 

Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, 
where the Comedy and the Grand Opera were charmingly 
represented. Monseigneur was out at a little supper most 
nights, with fascinating company. So polite and so im- 


102 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


pressible was Monseigneur that the Comedy and the Grand 
Opera had far more influence with him in the tireless articles 
of state affairs and state secrets, than the needs of all 
France. Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general 
public business, which was, to let everything go on in its own 
way; of particular public business, Monseigneur had the 
other truly noble idea that it must all go his way. Of his 
pleasures, general and particular, Monseigneur had the other 
truly noble idea, that the world was made for them. The 
text of his order (altered from the original by only a pro¬ 
noun, which is not much) ran: 

“ The earth and the fullness thereof are mine, saith Mon¬ 
seigneur.” 1 

Having eased his four men of their burdens and taken 
his chocolate, Monseigneur caused the doors of the Holiest 
of Holiest to be thrown open, and issued forth to the crowd 
of worshipers waiting to see him. Then what submission, 
what cringing and fawning, what servility, what abject 
humiliation! As to bowing down in body and spirit, nothing 
in that way was left for Heaven — which may have been one 
among other reasons why the worshipers of Monseigneur 
never troubled it. 

Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, 
a whisper on one happy slave and a wave of the hand on 
another, Monseigneur affably passed through his rooms, 
then turned and came back again, and so in due course 
of time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate 
sprites, and wa’s seen no more. There was soon but one 
person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat under 
his arm and his snuffbox in his hand, slowly passed among 
the mirrors on his way out. He stopped at the last door 
on his way, and turning in the direction of the Sanctuary 
said: 


1 Cf. Psalms, XXIV, 1. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


103 


“ I devote you to the Devil! ” 

With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he 
had shaken the dust from his feet, and quietly walked 
downstairs. This was the Marquis St. Evremonde. 

He was a man about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty, 
with a face like a fine mask, a face of transparent paleness, 
every feature of it clearly defined. Examined with atten¬ 
tion, the countenance might show an expression of treachery 
and cruelty; still, in the effect the face made, it was a hand¬ 
some face and a remarkable one. 

Its owner went downstairs into the courtyard, got into 
his carriage, and drove away. Not many people had talked 
with him at the reception; he had stood in a little space apart, 
and Monseigneur might have been warmer in his manner. 
It appeared under the circumstances rather agreeable to him 
to see the common people dispersed before his horses and 
often barely escaping from being run down. His man drove 
as if he were charging an enemy, and the furious reckless¬ 
ness of the man brought no check into the face, or to the 
lips, of the master. The complaint had sometimes made 
itself audible, even in that deaf city and dumb age, that 
in the narrow streets without footways the fierce patrician 
custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere 
common people in a barbarous manner. But few cared 
enough for that to think of it a second time, and in this 
matter, as in all others, the common wretches were left to 
get out of their difficulties as they could. 

With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman aban¬ 
donment of consideration not easy to be understood in these 
days, the carriage dashed through streets and swept round 
corners, with women screaming before it and men clutching 
each other and clutching children out of its way. At last, 
swooping at a street corner by a fountain in the Saint An¬ 
toine suburb of Paris, one of its wheels came to a sickening 


104 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of 
voices, and the horses reared and plunged. 

But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably 
would not have stopped; carriages were often known to 
drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? 
But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and there 
were twenty hands on the horse’s bridle. 

“ What has gone wrong ? ” said the Marquis, calmly 
looking out. 

A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from 
among the feet of the horses, and had laid it on the base¬ 
ment of the fountain, and was down in the mud, howling 
over it like a wild animal. 

“ Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis! ” said a ragged and 
submissive man, “ it is a child.” 

“ Why does he make that abominable noise ? Is it his 
child? ” 

“ Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis — it is a pity — 
yes.” 

The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, 
where it was, into a space ten or twelve yards square. As 
the tall man suddenly got up from the ground and came 
running at the carriage, Monsieur the Marquis clapped his 
hand for an instant on his sword hilt. 

“ Killed! ” shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extend¬ 
ing both arms at their length above his head and staring 
at him. “ Dead! ” 

Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if 
they had been mere rats come out of their holes. He took 
out his purse, and said: 

“ It is extraordinary to me that you people cannot take 
care of yourselves and your children. One or the other 
of you is forever in the way. How do I know what injury 
you have done my horses? See! Give him that ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


105 


He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and 
all the people crowded forward, that all the eyes might 
look down at it as it fell. The tall man called out again 
with a most unearthly cry, “Dead! ” 

He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, 
for whom the rest made way. On seeing him, the miser¬ 
able creature fell upon his shoulder sobbing and cry¬ 
ing, and pointing to the fountain where some women 
were stooping over the motionless bundle and mov¬ 
ing gently about it. They were as silent, however, as the 
men. 

“I know all; I know all,” said the last comer. “Be 
a brave man, my Gaspard! It is better for the poor little 
plaything to die so than to live. It has died in a moment 
without pain. Could it have lived an hour as happily ? ” 

“ You are a philosopher, you there,” said the Marquis, 
smiling. “How do they call you?” 

“ They call me Defarge.” 

“ Of what trade? ” 

“ Monsieur the Marquis, vender of wine.” 

“ Pick up that, philosopher and vender of wine,” said 
the Marquis, throwing him another gold coin, “ and spend 
it as you will. The horses, there; are they right? ” 

Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second 
time, Monsieur the Marquis leaned back in his seat, and 
was just being driven away with the air of a gentleman 
who had accidentally broken some common thing, and had 
paid for it, and could afford to pay for it, when his ease 
was suddenly disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage, 
and ringing on the floor. 

“ Hold! ” said Monsieur the Marquis. “ Hold the horses! 
Who threw that ? ” 

He looked to the spot where Defarge, the vender of wine 
had stood, a moment before, but the wretched father was 


106 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


groveling on the pavement in that spot, and the figure that 
stood beside him was the figure of a dark, stout woman, 
knitting. 

“You dogs! ” said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with 
an unchanged front, “ I would ride over any of you very 
willingly and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew 
which rascal threw at the carriage and if that brigand 
were sufficiently near it, he should be crushed under the 
wheels.” 

So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard 
their experience of what such a man could do to them, 
within the law, and beyond it, that not a voice, or a hand, 
or even an eye was raised. Among the men, not one, but 
the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily and looked 
the Marquis in the face. It was not for his dignity to 
notice it; his contemptuous eyes passed over her and over 
all the other rats as he leaned back in his seat again and 
gave the word: “ Go on! ” 

He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling 
by in quick succession; the Minister, the State-Projector, 
the Farmer-General, the Doctor, the Lawyer, the Ecclesi¬ 
astic, the Grand Opera, the Comedy, the whole Fancy Ball 
in a bright continuous flow came whirling by. The rats 
had crept out of their holes to look on, and they remained 
looking on for hours. Soldiers and police often passed 
between them and the spectacle, making a barrier behind 
which they slunk and through which they peeped. The 
father had long ago taken up his bundle and hidden himself 
away with it when the women who had tended the bundle 
while it lay on the base of the fountain sat there watching 
the running of the water and the rolling of the Fancy Ball 
— when the one woman who had stood conspicuous, knit¬ 
ting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate. The 
water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


107 


into evening, the rats were sleeping close together in their 
dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all 
things ran their course. 

On the day after the reception in Paris the Marquis St. 
Evremonde resumed the journey to his stately mansion in 
the country. He had spent the night on the way, probably 
at an inn. 

A beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but 
not abundant. Patches of poor rye where corn should have 
been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most 
coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. 

Monsieur the Marquis in his traveling carriage (which 
might have been lighter) conducted by four post-horses 
and two postilions, fagged up a steep hill. The sunset 
struck so brilliantly into the traveling carriage when it 
gained the hilltop that its occupant was steeped in crim¬ 
son. When the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel 
and the carriage slid downhill in a cloud of smoke, the red 
glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going 
down together. There was no glow left when the drag 
was taken off. 

But there remained a broken country, bold and open, 
a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep 
and rise beyond it, a church tower, a windmill, a forest 
for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a 
prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the 
night drew on, the Marquis looked with the air of one who 
was coming near home. 

The village had its one poor street, with its poor brew¬ 
ery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable yard for relay 
of horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. 
It had its poor people, too. All its people were poor, and 
many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding onions 
and the like for supper, while many were at the fountain, 


108 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


washing leaves and grasses and any such small yieldings 
of the earth that could be eaten. Signs of what made them 
poor were plain; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, 
the tax for the lord, tax local and tax general were to be 
paid here and to be paid there, according to solemn in¬ 
scription in the little village, until the wonder was that 
there was any village left unswallowed. Few children were 
to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men and women, their 
choice on earth was stated in the prospect — Life on the 
lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the little village 
under the mill; or captivity and Death in the dominant 
prison on the crag. 

Heralded by a courier in advance and by the cracking 
of his postilion’s whips, which twined snakelike about their 
heads in the evening air, as if he came attended by the 
Furies, Monsieur the Marquis drew up in his traveling car¬ 
riage at the posting-house gate. It was near the fountain, 
and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him. 
He was casting his eyes over the submissive faces that 
drooped before him, when a grizzled mender of the roads 
joined the group. 

“ Bring that fellow to me! ” said the Marquis to the 
courier. 

The fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fel¬ 
lows closed round to look and to listen, in the manner of 
the people at the Paris fountain. 

“ I passed you on the road? ” the Marquis said. 

“ Monseigneur, it is true. I had the honor of being 
passed on the road.” 

“ Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both? ” 

“ Monseigneur, it is true.” 

“What did you look at so fixedly?” 

“ Monseigneur, I looked at the man.” 

He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed 



The village had its one poor street, 





















































































110 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

under the carriage. All his fellows stooped to look under 
the carriage. 

“ What man, pig ? And why look there ? ” 

“ Pardon, Monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the 
shoe — the drag.” 

“ Who ? ” demanded the traveler, 
f Monseigneur, the man.” 

“ May the Devil carry away these idiots! How do you 
call the man? You know all the men of this part of the 
country. Who was he? ” 

“ Your clemency, Monseigneur! He was not of this part 
of the country. Of all the days of my life, I never saw 
him.” 

“ Swinging by the chain ? To be suffocated ? ” 

“ With your gracious permission, that was the won¬ 
der of it, Monseigneur. His head hanging over —like 
this! ” 

He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned 
back, with his face thrown up to the sky, and his head 
hanging down; then recovered himself, fumbled with his 
cap, and made a bow. 

“ What was he like ? ” 

“ Monseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. All covered 
with dust, white as a spectre, tall as a spectre! ” 

The picture produced an immense sensation in the little 
crowd; but all eyes, without comparing notes with other 
eyes, looked at the Marquis. 

Truly, you did well to see a thief accompanying my 
carriage, and not open that great mouth of yours. Bah! 
Put him aside, Gabelle! ” The Marquis spoke as if such 
vermin could not disturb him. 

Monsieur Gabelle was the postmaster and some other 
taxing functionary united. He had come out with great 
obsequiousness to assist at this examination and had held 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 111 

the examined by the drapery of his arm in an official 
manner. 

“ Bah! Go aside! ” said Monsieur Gabelle. 

“ Lay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your 
village tonight, and be sure that his business is honest, 
Gabelle” 

“ Monseigneur, I am flattered to devote myself to your 
orders.” 

“Did he run away, fellow? — Where is that accursed? ” 

The accursed was already under the carriage with some 
half-dozen particular friends, pointing out the chain with 
his blue cap. Some half-dozen other particular friends 
promptly hauled him out, and presented him breathless to 
Monsieur the Marquis. 

“ Did the man run away, dolt, when we stopped for the 
drag ? ” 

“ Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hillside, 
head first, as a person plunges into the river.” 

“ See to it, Gabelle. Go on! ” 

The half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still 
among the wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so sud¬ 
denly that they were lucky to save their skins and bones; 
they had very little else to save, or they might not have 
been so fortunate. 

The burst with which the carriage started out of the 
village and up the rise beyond was soon checked by the 
steepness of the hill. Gradually, it subsided to a footpace, 
swinging and lumbering upward among the many sweet 
scents of a summer night. The postilions, with a thousand 
gossamer gnats circling about them in lieu of the Furies, 
quietly mended the points to the lashes of their whips; the 
valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible, trotting 
on ahead into the dim distance. 

At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial 


112 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


ground, with a cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour 
on it; it was a poor figure in wood, done by some inexperi¬ 
enced carver, but he had studied the figure from the life 
— his own life, maybe — for it was dreadfully spare and 
thin. 

To this distressful emblem a woman was kneeling. She 
turned her head as the carriage came up to her, rose 
quickly, and presented herself at the carriage door. 

“It is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition.” 

With an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchange¬ 
able face, Monseigneur looked out. 

“ How, then! What is it ? Always petitions! ” 

“ Monseigneur. For the love of the great God! My 
husband, the forester! ” 

“ What of your husband, the forester ? Always the 
same with you people. He cannot pay something? ” 

“ He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.” 

“Well, he is quiet. Can I restore him? ” 

“ Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a 
little heap of poor grass.” 

“ Well? ” 

“ Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor 
grass ? ” 

“Again, well?” 

“ Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my peti¬ 
tion! My husband died of want; so many die of want; 
so many more will die of want.” 

“ Again, well ? Can I feed them ? ” 

She looked an old woman, but was young. 

“Monseigneur, the good God knows; but I don’t ask it. 
My petition is, that a morsel of stone or wood, with my 
husband’s name, may be placed over him to show where 
he lies. Otherwise, the place will be quickly forgotten; it 
will never be found when I am dead of the same malady; 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


113 


I shall be laid under some other heap of poor grass. Mon¬ 
seigneur, they are so many, they increase so fast, there is 
so much want. Monseigneur! Monseigneur! ” 

The valet had put her away from the door, the carriage 
had broken into a brisk trot, the postilions had quickened 
the pace, she was left far behind, and Monseigneur, again 
escorted by the Furies, was rapidly diminishing the league 
or two of distance that remained between him and his 
chateau. 

The sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, 
and rose, as the rain falls, impartially, on the dusty, ragged, 
and toil-worn group at the fountain not far away; to whom 
the mender of roads, with the aid of the blue cap without 
which he was nothing, still enlarged upon his man like a 
spectre, as long as they could bear it. By degrees, as they 
could bear no more, they dropped off one by one, and lights 
twinkled in little windows; which lights, as the windows 
darkened and more stars came out, seemed to have shot 
up into the sky instead of having been extinguished. 

The shadow of a large high-roofed house and of many 
overhanging trees was upon Monsieur the Marquis by 
that time; and the shadow was exchanged for the light of a 
torch, as his carriage stopped, and the great door of his 
chateau was opened to him. 

“ Monsieur Charles, whom I expect; is he arrived from 
England ? ” 

“ Monseigneur, not yet.” 


114 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER VI 
THE GORGON’S HEAD 

I T WAS a heavy mass of building, that chateau of Mon¬ 
sieur the Marquis, with a large stone courtyard before it 
and two stone sweeps of staircase meeting in a stone terrace 
before the principal door. A stony business altogether, with 
heavy stone balustrades, and stone urns, and stone flowers, 
and stone faces of men, and stone heads of lions, in all 
directions. As if the gorgon’s head had surveyed it, when 
it was finished, two centuries ago. 

Up the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Mar¬ 
quis, flambeau preceded, went from his carriage sufficiently 
disturbing the darkness to elicit loud remonstrance from 
an owl in the roof of the great pile of stable buildings away 
among the trees. All else was so quiet that the torch car¬ 
ried up the steps and the other torch held at the great 
door burnt as if they were in a close room of state, instead 
of being in the open night air. Other sound than the owl’s 
voice there was none, except the falling of the fountain 
into its stone basin. 

The great door clanged behind him, and Monsieur the 
Marquis crossed a hall grim with certain old boar spears, 
swords, and knives of the chase; grimmer with cer¬ 
tain heavy riding rods and riding whips, of which 
many a peasant, gone to his benefactor Death, had felt 
the weight. 

Avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made 
fast for the night, Monsieur the Marquis, with his torch 
bearer going on before, went up the staircase to a door 
in a corridor. This thrown open, admitted him to his own 
private apartment of three rooms; his bedroom and two 
others. High vaulted rooms with cool, uncarpeted floors, 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


115 


great andirons in the shape of dogs upon the hearths for 
the burning of wood in the winter time, and all the luxuries 
and rich furnishings of the time of Louis the fourteenth. 
There were also many other objects that were illustrations 
of old pages in the history of France. 

A supper table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; 
a round room, in one of the chateau’s four extinguisher- 
topped towers. A small lofty room, with its window 
wide open, and the wooden jalousie blinds closed, so 
that the dark night only showed in slight horizontal 
lines of black, alternating with their broad lines of stone 
color. 

“ My nephew,” said the Marquis, glancing at the supper 
preparation for two; “they said he was not arrived.” 

Nor was he; but he had been expected with Monseigneur. 

“ Ah! It is not probable he will arrive tonight; never¬ 
theless, leave the table as it is. I shall be ready in a 
quarter of an hour.” 

In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and 
sat down alone to his choice and sumptuous supper. His 
chair was opposite to the window, and he had taken his 
soup and was raising his glass of Bordeaux to his lips, when 
he put it down. 

“ What is that? ” he calmly asked, looking with attention 
at the blinds. 

“ Monseigneur! That ? ” 

“ Outside the blinds. Open the blinds.” 

It was done. 

“ Well.” 

“Monseigneur, it is nothing. The trees and the night 
are all that are here.” 

The servant who spoke had thrown the blinds wide, had 
looked out into the vacant darkness, and stood, with that 
blank behind him, looking round for instructions. 


116 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Good/’ said the undisturbed master. “ Close them 
again.” 

That was done too, and the Marquis went on with his 
supper. He was half way through it, when he again stopped 
with his glass in his hand, hearing the sound of wheels. It 
came on briskly, and came up to the front of the chateau. 

“ Ask who is arrived.” 

It was the nephew of Monseigneur. He had been some 
few leagues behind Monseigneur, early in the afternoon. 
He had diminished the distance rapidly, but not so rapidly 
as to come up with Monseigneur on the road. He had 
heard of Monseigneur at the posting-houses as being before 
him. 

He was to be told (said Monseigneur) that supper awaited 
him then and there, and that he was asked to come to it. 
In a little while he came. He had been known in England 
as Charles Darnay. 

Monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but 
they did not shake hands. 

“You left Paris yesterday, sir?” said Charles Darnay, 
as he took his seat at the table. 

“Yesterday. And you?” said the Marquis. 

“ I come direct.” 

“ From London ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You have been a long time coming,” said the Marquis, 
with a smile. 

“ On the contrary, I come direct.” 

“Pardon me! I mean, not a long time on the journey; 
a long time intending the journey.” 

“ I have been detained by ” — the nephew stopped a 
moment in his answer — “ various business.” 

“ Without doubt,” said the polished uncle. 

As long as a servant was present, no other words passed 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


117 


between them. When coffee had been served and they were 
alone together, the nephew, looking at the uncle and meet¬ 
ing the eyes of the face that was like a fine mask, opened 
a conversation. 

“ I have come back, sir, as you anticipate, pursuing the 
object that took me away. It carried me into great 
and unexpected peril; but it is a sacred object; and if 
it had carried me to death, I hope it would have sustained 
me.” 

“Not to death,” said the uncle; “it is not necessary to 
say to death.” 

“ I doubt, sir, whether, if it had carried me to the 
utmost brink of death, you would have cared to stop me 
there and help me.” 

The lengthening of the fine straight lines in the cruel 
face looked ominous as to that. The uncle made a graceful 
gesture of protest, which was so clearly a slight form of 
good breeding that it was not reassuring. 

“ Indeed, sir,” pursued the nephew, “ for anything I know, 
you may have expressly worked to give a more suspi¬ 
cious appearance to the suspicious circumstances that sur¬ 
rounded me.” 

“ No, no, no,” said the uncle, pleasantly. 

“ But, however that may be,” resumed the nephew, glanc¬ 
ing at him with deep distrust, “ I know that your diplomacy 
would stop me by any means and would know no scruple as 
to means.” 

“ My friend, I told you so. Do me the favor to recall that 
I told you so, long ago.” 

“ I recall it.” 

“ Thank you,” said the Marquis — very sweetly indeed. 

His tone lingered in the air, almost like the tone of a 
musical instrument. 

“ In effect, sir,” pursued the nephew, “ I believe it to be 


118 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


at once your bad fortune, and my good fortune, that has 
kept me out of a prison in France here/’ 

“ I do not quite understand,” returned the uncle, sipping 
his coffee. “ Dare I ask you to explain ? ” 

“ I believe that if you were not in disgrace with the 
Court and had not been overshadowed by that cloud for 
years past, a lettre de cachet would have sent me to some 
fortress indefinitely.” 

“ It is possible I might have done so,” said the uncle 
with great calmness. “ It is possible, for the honor of the 
family, I could even resolve to incommode you to that 
extent. Pray excuse me! ” 

“ I perceive that, happily for me, the reception of the 
day before yesterday was, as usual, a cold one,” observed 
the nephew. 

“ I would not say happily, my friend,” returned the 
uncle, with refined politeness; “I would not be sure of 
that. The advantages of solitude, giving a good opportunity 
for consideration, might influence your destiny to far 
greater advantage than you influence it for yourself. But 
it is useless to discuss the question. I am, as you say, at a 
disadvantage. These little instruments of correction, these 
gentle aids to the power and honor of families, these slight 
favors that might so incommode you, are only to be ob¬ 
tained now very seldom. They are sought by so many, 
and they are granted (comparatively) to so few. It used 
not to be so, but France in all such things is changed for 
the worse. Our not remote ancestors held the right of life 
and death over the surrounding peasants. From this room 
many such dogs have been taken out to be hanged; in the 
next room (my bedroom), one fellow, to our knowledge, was 
stabbed to death on the spot for professing some insolent 
delicacy respecting his daughter — his daughter! We have 
lost many privileges; a new philosophy has become the 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


119 


mode; and the assertion of our station, in these days, might 
(I do not go so far as to say would, but might) cause us real 
inconvenience. All very bad, very bad! ” 

The Marquis took a gentle pinch of snuff and shook his 
head: 

“We have so asserted our station both in the old time 
and in the modern time also,” said the nephew gloomily, 
“ that I believe our name to be more detested than any 
name in France.” 

“ Let us hope so,” said the uncle. “ Detestation of the 
high is the involuntary homage of the low.” 

“ There is not a face I can look at, in all this country 
round about us, which looks at me with any deference on 
it but the dark deference of fear and slavery,” said Charles 
Darnay in the same gloomy tone. 

“ A compliment to the grandeur of the family, merited 
by the manner in which the family has sustained its gran¬ 
deur. Hah! Repression is the only lasting philosophy. 
The dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend, will 
keep the dogs obedient to the whip. Meanwhile, I will 
preserve the honor of the family if you will not. But you 
must be fatigued. Shall we terminate our conference for 
the night? ” 

“A moment more.” 

“ An hour, if you please.” 

“ Sir, we have done wrong, and are reaping the fruits 
of wrong,” said the nephew. 

“ We have done wrong,” repeated the Marquis, with an 
enquiring smile, and pointing first to his nephew, then to 
himself. 

“ Our family, our honorable family, whose honor is of so 
much account to both of us, in such different ways. Even 
in my father’s time, we did a world of wrong, injuring every 
human creature who came between us and our pleasure. 


120 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Why need I speak of my father’s time, when it was equally 
yours? Can I separate my father’s twin brother, joint 
inheritor, and next successor from himself? ” 

“ Death has done that,” said the Marquis. 

“ And has left me bound to a system that is frightful to 
me; responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking to execute 
the last request of my dear mother’s lips and obey the last 
look in my dear mother’s eyes, which implored me to have 
mercy and to redress. In trying to do this I have been 
tortured by seeking assistance and power in vain.” 

“ Seeking them from me, my nephew, you will forever 
seek them in vain, be assured.” Every fine straight line 
in the clear whiteness of his face was cruelly, craftily, and 
closely compressed, while he stood looking quietly at his 
nephew. He touched him on the breast as though his fin¬ 
ger were the fine point of a small sword, with which he 
ran him through the body and said, as they were now 
standing by the hearth: 

“ My friend, I will die, perpetuating the system under 
which I have lived. Better be a rational creature,” he 
rang a small bell on the table, “ and accept your natural 
destiny. But you are lost, Monsieur Charles, I see.” 

“This property and France are lost to me. I renounce 
them.” 

“Are they both yours to renounce? France may be, 
but is the property? It is scarcely worth mentioning, but 
is it yet?” 

“ I had no intention to claim it yet. If it passed to me 
from you tomorrow — ” 

“ Which I have the vanity to hope is not probable.” 

“ — or twenty years hence — ” 

“ You do me too much honor; still I prefer that supposi¬ 
tion.” 

“ — I would abandon it and live elsewhere. It is little 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 121 

to relinquish. What is it but a wilderness of misery and 
ruin? ” 

“ Hah,” said the Marquis, glancing round the luxurious 
room. 

“ To the eye it is fair enough here, but seen in its integrity 
it is a crumbling waste of mismanagement, extortion, debt, 
oppression, hunger, nakedness, and suffering” 

“ Hah,” said the Marquis, in a well satisfied manner. 

“ If it ever becomes mine, it shall be put into some 
hands, better qualified to free it slowly (if such a thing 
is possible) from the weight that drags it down, so that the 
miserable people who cannot leave it, and who have long 
been wrung to the last point of endurance, may, in another 
generation, suffer less. But it is not for me. There is a 
curse on it, and on all this land.” 

“ And you, forgive my curiosity, how do you intend to 
five under your new philosophy ? ” 

“ I must do, to live, what others of my countrymen may 
have to do some day — work.” 

“ In England, for example ? ” 

“ Yes. The family honor is safe from me in this country. 
The family name can suffer from me in no other country 
for I bear it in no other.” 

The ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bed¬ 
chamber to be lighted. It now shone brightly through the 
door of communication. 

The Marquis looked that way, and listened for the retreat¬ 
ing step of his valet. 

“England is very attractive to you, seeing how indif¬ 
ferently you have prospered there,” he observed, turning 
his calm face to his nephew with a smile. 

“I have already said, that for my prospering there, I 
may be indebted to you, sir. For the rest, it is my refuge.” 

“ They say, those boastful English, that it is the refuge 


122 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


of many. You know a compatriot who has found a ref¬ 
uge there, a Doctor? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ With a daughter ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Yes,” said the Marquis. “ You are fatigued. Good 
night! ” 

As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there 
was a secrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air 
of mystery to those words which struck the eyes and ears 
of the nephew forcibly. At the same time, the thin straight 
lips curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely dia¬ 
bolical. 

u Yes,” repeated the Marquis. “A Doctor with a daugh¬ 
ter. Yes. So commences the new philosophy! You are 
fatigued. Good night! ” 

It would have done as much good to question any stone 
face outside the chateau as to question that face of his. 
The nephew looked at him in vain, in passing on to the door. 

“ Good night! ” said the uncle. “ I look to the pleasure 
of seeing you again in the morning. Good repose! Light 
Monsieur my nephew to his room, there!—And burn 
Monsieur my nephew in his bed, if you will,” he added to 
himself. 

Monsieur the Marquis walked to and fro in his loose 
robe to prepare himself gently for sleep that hot still night. 
Rustling about the room, his softly slippered feet making 
no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger. He 
moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom looking 
again at the scraps of the day’s journey that came unbidden 
into his mind — the slow toil up the hill at sunset, the 
setting sun, the descent, the mill, the prison on the crag, 
the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the foun¬ 
tain, and the mender of roads with his blue cap pointing 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


123 


* 

out the chain under the carriage. That fountain suggested 
the Paris fountain, the little bundle lying on the step, the 
women bending over it, and the tall man wdth his arms up 
crying, “Dead! ” 

“ I am cool, now, and may go to bed,” said Monsieur 
the Marquis. 

So leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, 
he let the thin gauze curtains of his bed fall around him, 
and with a long sigh composed himself to sleep. 

For three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, 
lion and human, stared blindly at the night. Dead dark¬ 
ness lay on all the landscape. The fountain in the village 
flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain at the cha¬ 
teau dropped unseen and unheard — both melting away 
like the minutes that were falling from the Spring of Time 
— through three dark hours. Then the water of both be¬ 
gan to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone 
faces of the chateau were opened. Lighter and lighter it 
grew until at last the sun poured its radiance over the 
hill and touched the tops of the still trees. Now the sun 
was full up, and the chateau awoke. Doors of the out¬ 
buildings were thrown open, and horses looked round over 
their shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in. Dogs 
pulled hard at their chains, impatient to be loosed. Doors 
and windows of the chateau were opened, and the work 
of the day began. But suddenly the great bell of the 
chateau was heard to ring violently. There was a run¬ 
ning up and down of stairs and rushing around on the bal¬ 
conies and terraces. What was the meaning of this sudden 
booting and tramping here there and everywhere, and the 
quick saddling of horses and riding away ? 

What winds conveyed this alarm and hurry to the 
grizzled mender of roads, already at work on the hill top 
beyond the village, with his day’s dinner (not much to 


124 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crow’s while 
to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the birds, carrying 
some grains of it to a distance dropped one over him, 
as they sow chance seeds? Whether or no, the mender 
of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down 
the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got 
to the fountain. 

All the people were at the fountain, standing about in their 
depressed manner and whispering low. Some of the people 
of the chateau and some of those of the posting-house, and 
all of the taxing authorities were armed, more or less, and 
were crowded on the other side of the little street in a pur¬ 
poseless way fraught with nothing. Already the mender 
of roads had penetrated into the midst of a group of fifty 
particular friends and was smiting himself in the breast 
with his blue cap. What did all this mean? What did it 
mean that Monsieur Gabelle was swiftly hoisted up behind 
a servant on horseback, and the horse, double laden though 
he was, rushing away at a gallop ? 

It meant that there was one stone face too many at the 
chateau. 

The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the 
night and had added the one stone face wanting; the stone 
face for which it had waited about two hundred years. 

It lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. 
It was like a fine mask, suddenly startled, made angry, 
and petrified. Driven home into the heart of the stone 
figure was a knife. Round its handle was a frill of paper, 
on which was scrawled: 

“Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from Jacques 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


125 


CHAPTER VII 
TWO PROMISES 

M ORE months, to the number of twelve, had come and 
gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was established in 
England as a higher teacher of the French language and 
French literature. As a tutor whose attainments made the 
student’s way unusually pleasant and profitable and as an 
elegant translator who brought something to his work be¬ 
sides mere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon 
became known and encouraged. He was well acquainted, 
moreover, with the circumstances of his country, and those 
were of ever-growing interest. So with great perseverance 
and untiring industry, he prospered. 

In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements 
of gold nor to lie on beds of roses; if he had had any such 
exalted expectations, he would not have prospered. He had 
expected labor, and he found it, and did it, and made the 
best of it. In this his prosperity consisted. A certain 
portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, and the rest 
of his time he passed in London. 

Now from the days wdien it was always summer in Eden, 
to these days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, 
the world of a man has invariably gone one way — the 
way of the love of a woman. 

He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. 
He had never heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound 
of her compassionate voice. He had never seen a face 
so tenderly beautiful as hers when it was confronted with 
his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for him. 
But he had not yet spoken to her on the subject. The 
assassination at the deserted chateau far away beyond the 
heaving water and the long, long dusty roads — the solid 


126 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


stone chateau which had itself become the mere mist of a 
dream — had been done a year, and he had never yet, 
by so much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the 
state of his heart. 

That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It 
was again a summer day, when, lately arrived in Lon¬ 
don from his college occupation, he turned into the quiet 
corner in Soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of open¬ 
ing his mind to Doctor Manette. It was the close of 
the summer day, and he knew Lucie to be out with Miss 
Pross. 

He found the Doctor reading in his armchair at a win¬ 
dow. He was now a very energetic man indeed, with great 
firmness of purpose, strength of resolution, and vigor of 
action. He studied much, slept little, sustained a great 
deal of fatigue with ease, and was always cheerful. To 
him now entered Charles Darnay, at sight of whom he laid 
aside his book and held out his hand. 

“ Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been 
counting on your return these three or four days past. 
Mr. Stryver and Sydney Carton were both here yesterday, 
and both made you out to be more than due.” 

“ I am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,” 
he answered, a little coldly as to them, though very warmly 
as to the Doctor. “ Miss Manette — ” 

“ Is well,” said the Doctor, as he stopped short, “ and 
your return will delight us all. She has gone out on some 
household matters, but will soon be home.” 

“ Doctor Manette, I knew she .was from home. I took 
the opportunity of her being from home to beg to speak 
to you.” 

There was a blank silence. 

“ Yes? ” said the Doctor, with evident constraint. “ Bring 
your chair here, and speak on.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 127 

He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the 
speaking less easy. 

“ I have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being 
so intimate here,” so at length he began, “ for some year 
and a half, that I hope the topic on which I am about to 
touch may not — ” 

He was stayed by the Doctor putting out his hand to 
stop him. When he had kept it so a little while, he said, 
drawing it back: 

“ Is Lucie the topic ? ” 

“ She is.” 

" It is hard for me to hear her spoken of in that tone of 
yours, Charles Darnay.” 

“ It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and 
deep love, Doctor Manette! ” he said respectfully. 

“ I believe it. I do you justice. I believe it.” 

His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, 
too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the 
subject that Charles Darnay hesitated. 

“ Shall I go on, sir ? ” 

Another blank. 

“ Yes, go on.” 

“ You anticipate what I would say, though you cannot 
know how earnestly I say it, how earnestly I feel it, without 
knowing my secret heart and the hopes and fears and anxie¬ 
ties with which it has long been laden. Dear Doctor Ma¬ 
nette, I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinterestedly, 
devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. 
You have loved yourself; let your old love speak for me! ” 

The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes 
bent on the ground. At the last words, he stretched out his 
hand again, hurriedly, and cried: 

“ Not that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall 
that! ” 



128 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in 
Charles Darnay’s ears long after he had ceased. He mo¬ 
tioned with the hand he had extended, and it seemed to be 
an appeal to Darnay to pause. The latter so received it, 
and remained silent. 

“ I ask your pardon,” said the Doctor, in a subdued tone 
after some moments. “ I do not doubt your loving Lucie. 
You may be satisfied of it.” 

He turned towards him in his chair, but did not look 
at him, or raise his eyes. His chin dropped upon his 
hand, and his white hair overshadowed his face. 

“ Have you spoken to Lucie ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Nor written? ” 

“ Never.” 

“ It would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your 
self-denial is to be referred to your consideration for her 
father. Her father thanks you.” 

He offered his hand, but his eyes did not go with it. 

“ I know,” said Darnay, respectfully, “ how can I fail 
to know, that between you and Miss Manette there is an 
affection so unusual that it can have few parallels. Mingled 
with the affection of a daughter, there is in her heart 
towards you all the love and reliance of infancy itself. 
I know perfectly well that, if you had been restored to her 
from the world beyond this life, you could hardly be in¬ 
vested with a more sacred character. In loving you she 
sees and loves her mother, at her own age; sees and loves 
you at my age; loves her mother, broken-hearted; loves 
you through your dreadful trial and in your blessed restora¬ 
tion. I have known this night and day, since I have known 
you in your home.” 

Her father sat silent, with his face bent down. 

“ Dear Doctor Manette, always knowing this, always 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


129 


seeing her, with this hallowed light between you, I have 
held back as long as it was in the nature of man to do 
it. I have felt that to bring my love — even mine — be¬ 
tween you is to touch your history with something not quite 
so good as itself. But I love her. Heaven is my witness 
that I love her! ” 

“ I believe it,” answered her father mournfully. “ I have 
thought so before now. I believe it.” 

“But do not believe,” said Darnay, “that I could or 
would ever try to put any separation between you and her. 
Besides that I should know it to be hopeless, I should 
know it to be a baseness. No, dear Doctor Manette, like 
you, a voluntary exile from France, driven from it by its 
oppressions and miseries, I look only to sharing your for¬ 
tunes, sharing your life and home, and being faithful to you 
to the death. Not to divide with Lucie her privilege as your 
child, companion, and friend,.but to come in aid of it, and 
to bind her closer to you, if such a thing can be.” 

Her father rested his hands upon the arms of his chair 
and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the 
conference. A struggle was evidently in his face, a struggle 
with that occasional look which had a tendency in it to 
dark doubt and dread. 

“ You speak so feelingly and so manfully, Charles Dar¬ 
nay, that I thank you with all my heart. Have you any 
reason to believe that Lucie loves you ? ” 

“ None, as yet.” 

“ Is it the object of this confidence that you may at once 
ascertain that with my knowledge ? ” 

“ Not even so. I might not have the hopefulness to do 
it for weeks. I might (mistaken or not mistaken) have 
that hopefulness tomorrow.” 

“ Do you seek any guidance from me ? ” 

“ I ask none, sir, but I have thought it possible that you 


130 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


might have it in your power, if you should deem it right, 
to give me some.” 

“ Do you seek any promise from me ? ” 

“ I do seek that.” 

“ What is it? ” 

“ I well understand that without you I could have no 
hope; that I could retain no place in her heart against her 
father.” 

“ If that be so, do you see what on the other hand is in¬ 
volved in it ? ” 

“ I understand equally well that a word from her father 
in any suitor’s favor would outweigh herself and all the 
world. For which reason, Doctor Manette, I would not ask 
that word to save my life.” 

“ I am sure of it. Charles Darnay, my daughter Lucie 
is, in this one respect, a mystery to me. I can make no 
guess at the state of her heart.” 

“ May I ask, sir, if you think she is — ” As he hesitated 
her father supplied the rest: 

“ Is sought by any other suitor ? ” 

“ It is what I meant to say.” 

Her father considered a little before he answered: 

“ You have seen Mr. Carton here yourself. Mr. Stryver 
is here too, occasionally. If it be at all, it can only be by 
one of these.” 

“ Or both,” said Darnay. 

“I had not thought of both. I should not think either 
likely. You want a promise from me. Tell me what 
it is.” 

“ It is that if Miss Manette should bring to you at any 
time on her part, such a confidence as I have ventured to lay 
before you — if she should ever tell you that she has af¬ 
fection for me —you will tell her what I have said today 
about my love for her and that you believe me to be sin- 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 131 

cere. You have a right to require a condition, which I will 
observe immediately.” 

“ I give the promise without any condition. I believe 
your object is to perpetuate, and not to weaken the ties 
between me and my other far dearer self, my daughter. 
If she should ever tell me that you are essential to her 
happiness, I will give her to you. If there were — Charles 
Darnay, if there were — ” 

The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their 
hands were joined as the Doctor spoke: 

“ — any fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions, any¬ 
thing whatsoever new or old, against the man she really 
loved — the direct responsibility thereof not lying on 
his head — they should all be obliterated for her sake. 
She is everything to me; more to me than suffering, 
more* to me than wrong, more to me — Well! this is idle 
talk.” 

So strange was the way in which he faded into silence and 
so strange his fixed look, when he had ceased to speak, that 
Darnay felt his own hand turn cold, in the hand that slowly 
released and dropped it. 

“ You said something to me,” said Doctor Manette, 
breaking into a smile. “ What was it you said to me? ” 

“Your confidence in me ought to be returned with full 
confidence on my part. My present name, though but 
slightly changed from my mother’s, is not my own. I wish 
to tell you what that is, and why I am in England.” 

“Stop! ” said the Doctor of Beauvais. 

“ I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence 
and have no secret from you.” 

“ Stop! ” For an instant the Doctor even had his two 
hands at his ears; for another instant, even had his two 
hands laid on Darnay’s lips. 

“ Tell me when I ask you, not now. If your suit should 


132 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


prosper, if Lucie should love you, you shall tell me on your 
marriage morning. Do you promise? ” 

“ Willingly.” 

It was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was 
an hour later when Lucie came home. She hurried into 
the room alone and was surprised to find his reading chair 
empty. 

“ My father,” she called to him, “ father, dear! ” 

Nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low ham¬ 
mering in his bedroom. She looked in at his door, and came 
running back frightened, crying to herself, with her blood 
all chilled: 

“ What shall I do! What shall I do! ” 

Her uncertainty lasted but a moment. She hurried back 
and tapped at his door, and softly called to him. The noise 
ceased at the sound of her voice, and he presently came 
out to her, and they walked up and down together for a 
long time. 

She came down from her bed to look at him in his sleep 
that night. He slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking 
tools, and the old unfinished shoes were all as usual. 


CHAPTER VIII 
A COMPANION PICTURE 

S YDNEY,” said Mr. Stryver, on that selfsame night, or 
morning, to his jackal; “mix another bowl of punch; 
I have something to say to you.” 

Sydney had been working double tides that night, and the 
night before, and the night before that, and a good many 
nights in succession, making a grand clearance among Mr. 
Stryver’s papers before the setting in of the long vacation. 
The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver arrears 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


133 


were handsomely brought up; everything was got rid of 
until November should come with its fogs atmospheric and 
fogs legal, and bring grist to the mill again. 

Sydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for 
so much application. It had taken a deal of extra wet- 
toweling to pull him through the night; a correspondingly 
extra quantity of wine had preceded the toweling; and he 
was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled his tur¬ 
ban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped 
it at intervals for the last six hours. 

“ Are you mixing that other bowl of punch ? ” said Stryver 
the portly, with his hands in his waistband, glancing round 
from the sofa where he lay on his back. 

“ I am.” 

“Now, look here! I am going to tell you something 
that will rather surprise you, and that perhaps will make 
you think me not quite so shrewd as you usually do think 
me. I intend to marry.” 

“Do you?” 

“ Yes. And not for money. What do you say now? ” 

“ I don’t feel disposed to say much. Who is she ? ” 

“ Guess.” 

“ I am not going to guess, at five o’clock in the morning, 
with my brains frying and sputtering in my head. If you 
want me to guess, you must ask me to dinner.” 

“ Well then, I’ll tell you,” said Stryver, coming slowly into 
a sitting posture. “ Sydney, I rather despair of making my¬ 
self intelligible to you, because you are such an insensible 
dog.” 

“ And you,” returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, 
“ are such a sensitive and poetical spirit.” 

“ Come! ” rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, “ though 
I don’t prefer any claim to being the soul of Romance, still 
I am a tenderer sort of fellow than you.” 


134 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ You are a luckier, if you mean that.” 

“ I don’t mean that. I mean I am a man of more — 
more — ” 

“ Say gallantry, while you are about it,” suggested Sydney. 

“ Well! I’ll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a 
man,” said Mr. Stryver, inflating himself at his friend as 
he made the punch, “ who cares more to be agreeable, 
who takes more* pains to be agreeable, who knows better 
how to be agreeable, in a woman’s society, than you do.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ No, but before I go on, I’ll have this out with you. 
You’ve been at Dr. Manette’s house as much as I have, 
or more than I have. Why, I have been ashamed of your 
moroseness there! Your manners have been of that silent 
and sullen and hang-dog kind, that, upon my life and 
soul, I have been ashamed of you, Sydney! ” 

“ It should be very beneficial, to a man in your practice at 
the bar, to be ashamed of anything. You ought to be much 
obliged to me.” 

“ You shall not get off in that way. No, Sydney, it’s my 
duty to tell you, — and I tell you to your face to do you 
good — that you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow in that 
sort of society. You are a disagreeable fellow.” 

Sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made and 
laughed. 

“ Look at me,” said Stryver, “ I have less need to make 
myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in 
circumstances. Why do I do it? ” 

“ I never saw you do it yet,” muttered Carton. 

“ I do it because it’s .politic! I do it on principle. And 
look at me! I get on.” 

“You don’t get on with your account of your matri¬ 
monial intentions. I wish you would keep to that. As to 
me, — will you never understand that I am incorrigible ? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


135 


“ You have no business to be incorrigible.” 

“ I have no business to be at all, that I know of. Who 
is the lady? ” 

“ Now don’t let my announcement of the name make 
you uncomfortable, Sydney, because I know you don’t mean 
half what you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no 
importance. I make this little preface, because you once 
mentioned the young lady to me in slighting terms.” 

“ I did? ” 

“ Certainly, and in these rooms.” 

Sydney Carton looked at his punch, and looked at his com¬ 
placent friend; drank his punch and looked at his compla¬ 
cent friend. 

“ You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired 
doll. The young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been 
a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicaey of .feeling in that 
kind of way, Sydney, I might have been a little resentful; 
but you are not. Therefore I am no more annoyed when 
I think of the expression than I should be annoyed at a 
man’s opinion of a picture of mine, who had no eye for pic¬ 
tures, or of a piece of music of mine, who had no ear for 
music. You couldn’t be expected to understand and appre¬ 
ciate a girl like Miss Manette.” 

Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank 
it by bumpers, looking at his friend. 

“ Now you know all about it, Syd. I don’t care about 
fortune. She is a charming creature, and I have made 
up my mind to please myself. On the whole I think I can 
afford to please myself. She will have in me a man 
already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, and a 
man of some distinction. It is a piece of good fortune for 
her, but she is worthy of good fortune. Are you aston¬ 
ished? ” 

“ Why should I be astonished ? ” 


136 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ You approve? ” 

“ Why should I not approve? ” 

“ Well, you take it more easily than I thought you would, 
and are less mercenary on my behalf than I thought you 
would be. I expected you to disapprove on account of my 
not marrying for money. Yes, Sydney, I have had enough 
of this style of life, with no other as a change from it. 
I feel that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home, 
when he feels inclined to go to it (when he doesn’t, he can 
stay away), and I feel that Miss Manette will tell well in any 
station, and will always do me credit. So I have made up 
my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a word 
to you about your prospects. You are in a bad way, you 
know. Yqu really are in a bad way. You don’t know the 
value of money. You live hard. You’ll knock up one of these 
days, and be ill, and poor. You really ought to think about a 
nurse. Now let me recommend you to look it in the face. 
I have looked it in the face in my different way. Look 
it in the face in your different way. Marry. Provide some¬ 
body to take care of you. Never mind your having no en¬ 
joyment of women’s society, nor understanding of it, nor 
tact for it. Find out somebody. Find out some respectable 
woman with a little property — somebody in the landlady 
way, or lodging-letting way — and marry her against a 
rainy day. That’s the kind of thing for you. Now, think 
of it, Sydney.” 

“ I’ll think of it,” said Sydney. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


137 


CHAPTER IX 
THE FELLOW OF DELICACY 

M R. STRYVER, having made up his mind to that mag¬ 
nanimous bestowal of good fortune on the Doctor’s 
daughter, resolved to make her happiness known to her 
before he left town for the long vacation. He concluded 
that it would be as well to get all the preliminaries done 
with, and they could then arrange at their leisure the date 
of the wedding. 

Accordingly, Mr. Stryver invited Miss Manette to Vaux- 
hall Gardens, thinking it a good place in which to tell her 
of her good fortune. That plan failing, he invited her to 
Ranelagh, another popular resort; that unaccountably fail¬ 
ing too, it behooved him to present himself in Soho, and 
there declare his noble mind. 

Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way. 
Going past Tellson’s Bank, and he both banking at Tell¬ 
son’s and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of 
the Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver’s mind to go into 
the bank and reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness of the 
Soho horizon. So he pushed open the old door, with the 
weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, 
got past the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered him¬ 
self in to the musty back room where Mr. Lorry sat 
at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular 
iron bars to his window, as if that were ruled for figures 
too. 

“ Halloa! ” said Mr. Stryver. How do you do? I hope 
you are well! ” 

It was Stryver’s grand peculiarity that he always seemed 
too big for any place or space. He was so much too big 
for Tellson’s that old clerks in distant corners looked up 


138 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them 
against the wall. 

“Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver? ” asked Mr. 
Lorry, in his business character. 

“ Why, no, thank you. This is a private visit to your¬ 
self, Mr. Lorry. I have come for a private word.” 

“ Oh indeed! ” said Mr. Lorry, giving close attention. 

“ I am going,” said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confi¬ 
dentially on the desk; whereupon, although it was a large 
double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough 
for him: “ I am going to make an offer of myself in mar¬ 
riage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. 
Lorry.” 

“ Oh dear me! ” cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and 
looking at his visitor dubiously. 

“Oh dear me, sir?” repeated Stryver, drawing back. 
“ Oh dear you, sir ? What may your meaning be, Mr. 
Lorry? ” 

“My meaning is, of course, friendly and appreciative, 
and that it does you the greatest credit, and — in short, my 
meaning is everything you could desire. But — really, you 
know, Mr. Stryver — ” 

“Well! ” said Stryver, slapping the desk with his con¬ 
tentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long 
breath, “if I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I’ll be hanged! ” 

Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means 
towards that end, and bit the feather of a pen. 

“Darn it all, sir! ” said Stryver, staring at him, “am 
I not eligible ? ” 

“Oh dear, yes! Yes. Oh yes, you’re eligible! If you 
say eligible, you are eligible.” 

“ Am I not prosperous ? ” asked Stryver. 

“Oh! If you come to prosperous, you are prosperous.” 

“ And advancing ? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 139 

“ If you come to advancing, you know, nobody can doubt 
that.” 

“ Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry? ” de¬ 
manded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen. 

“Well! I — Were you going there now?” asked Mr. 
Lorry. 

“ Straight! ” said Stryver with a plump of his fist on the 
desk. 

“ Then I think I wouldn’t, if I were you.” 

“ Why? Now, I’ll put you in a corner,” shaking a fore¬ 
finger at him. “ You are a man of business and bound to 
have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn’t you 
go? ” 

“ Because, I wouldn’t go on such an object without hav¬ 
ing some cause to believe that I should succeed.” 

“ Darn me! But this beats everything,” said the angry 
Stryver. “ Here’s a man of business — a man of years — 
a man of experience — in a bank, and having summed up 
three leading reasons for complete success, he says there’s 
no reason at all! Says it with his head on— ! ” 

“ When I speak of success, I speak of success with the 
young lady; and when I speak of causes and reasons to 
make success probable, I speak of causes and reasons that 
will tell as such with the young lady. The young lady, 
my good sir,” said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver 
arm, “ the young lady. The young lady goes before all.” 

“ Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry,” said Stryver, 
squaring his elbows, “that it is your deliberate opinion 
that the young lady at present in question is a mincing 
fool? ” 

“ Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver,” said 
Mr. Lorry, reddening, “that I will hear no disrespectful 
word of that young lady from any lips; and that if I knew 
any man — which I hope I do not — whose taste was so 


140 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


coarse and whose temper was so overbearing that he could 
not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that 
young lady at this desk, not even Tellson’s should prevent 
my giving him a piece of my mind. That is what I mean 
to tell you, sir. Let there be no mistake about it! ” 

Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, 
and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which 
probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward 
silence by saying: 

“ This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You delib¬ 
erately advise me not to go up to Soho and offer myself — 
myself, Stryver of the King’s Bench bar ? ” 

“Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it 
correctly.” 

“ And all that I can say of it is,” laughed Stryver with a 
vexed laugh, “that this — ha, ha! beats everything past, 
present, and to come.” 

“ Now understand me,” pursued Mr. Lorry. “ As a man 
of business, I am not justified in saying anything about 
this matter, for as a man of business I know nothing of it. 
But, as an old fellow who has carried Miss Manette in his 
arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and of her 
father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I 
have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recol¬ 
lect. Now you think I may not be right? ” 

“Not I! ” said Stryver, whistling. “I can’t undertake 
to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for 
myself. I suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose 
mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It’s new to me, but 
you are right, I dare say.” 

“ What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterize 
for myself. And understand me, sir,” said Mr. Lorry, 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


141 


quickly flushing again, “I will not — not.even at Tellson’s 
— have it characterized for me by any gentleman breath¬ 
ing/’ 

“ There! I beg your pardon! ” said Stryver. 

“ Granted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, I was about 
to say — it might be painful to you to find yourself mis¬ 
taken; it might be painful to Doctor Manette to have the 
task of being explicit with you. You know the terms 
upon which I have the honor and happiness to stand with 
the family. If you please, committing you in no way, rep¬ 
resenting you in no way, I will try to discover whether 
my advice to you has been correct, by a little new observa¬ 
tion and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. If 
you should then be dissatisfied with it, you can test its 
soundness for yourself. If on the other hand, you should 
be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is, it may 
spare all sides what is best spared. What do you say ? ” 

“ How long would you keep me in town ? ” 

“Oh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could 
go to Soho in the evening and come to your rooms after¬ 
wards.” 

“ Then I say yes. I won’t go up there now. I am not 
so hot upon it as that comes to; I say yes, and I shall expect 
you to look in tonight. Good morning.” 

Mr. Stryver knew that Mr. Lorry was a man of good 
judgment, who never made a statement unless he was quite 
sure it was true. So the more he thought about it, the 
stronger became his conviction, that he would not stand 
any chance with Lucie Manette. It was a bitter pill to his 
vanity; yet he finally swallowed it. “But,” he said to 
himself, “ my way out of this is to put you all in the wrong. 
You shall not put me in the wrong, young lady; I’ll do that 
for you.” 

Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night, Mr. 


142 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered 
about for that purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his 
mind than the subject of the morning. He even showed 
surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry. 

“ Well,” said that good-natured emissary, after trying 
for half an hour to bring up the subject, “ I have been 
to Soho.” 

“ To Soho?” repeated Stryver, coldly. “Oh, yes, to be 
sure! What am I thinking ? ” 

“ And I have no doubt I was right in the conversation we 
had. My opinion is confirmed, and I repeat my advice.” 

“ I assure you,” returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest 
way, “ that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry 
for it on the poor father’s account. I know this must al¬ 
ways be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more 
about it.” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Lorry. 

“ I dare say not,” rejoined Stryver, nodding his head 
in a smoothing and final way; “ no matter, no matter.” 

“ But it does matter.” 

“ No it doesn’t. I assure you it doesn’t. Having sup¬ 
posed that there was sense where there is no sense, and 
a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, 
I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. Young 
women have committed similar follies often before, and 
have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. 
In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, 
because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly 
point of view. In a selfish aspect I am glad that the thing 
has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for 
me in a worldly point of view — it is hardly necessary to 
say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm 
at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady, and 
between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection, 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


143 

that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. 
Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and 
giddinesses of empty-headed girls. You must not expect to 
do it, or you will always be disappointed. Now, please 
say no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on account of 
others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am 
really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound 
you, and for giving me your advice. You know the young 
lady better than I do. You were right, it never would 
have done.” 

Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite 
stupidly at Mr. Stryver, shouldering him towards the door 
with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, 
and goodwill on his erring head, saying finally: 

“ Make the best of it, my dear sir; say no more about 
it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good 
night! ” 

Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where 
he was. Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking 
at his ceiling. 


CHAPTER X 

THE FELLOW OF NO DELICACY 

I F Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never 
shone in the house of Doctor Manette. He had been 
there often during a whole year, and had always been the 
same moody and morose lounger. When he cared to talk, 
he talked well, but the caring for nothing which overshad¬ 
owed him with such a fatal darkness was very rarely pierced 
by the light within him. And yet he did care something 
even for the streets that environed that home in Soho 


144 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. 
Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered 
there. 

One day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying 
his jackal that he had thought better of that marrying 
affair) had gone into Devonshire for his vacation, Sydney’s 
feet passed along those stones. From being irresolute and 
purposeless, his feet became animated by an intention; and 
in the working out of that intention, they took him to the 
Doctor’s door. 

He was shown upstairs and found Lucie at her work, 
alone. She had never been quite at her ease with him and 
received him with a little embarrassment as he seated him¬ 
self near her table. But looking up at his face, she observed 
a change in it. 

“ I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton.” 

“ No, but the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive 
to health. What is to be expected of, or by, such profli¬ 
gates ? ” 

“ Is it not — forgive me; I have begun the question on 
my lips — a pity to live no better life ? ” 

“ God knows it is a shame! ” 

“ Then why not change it ? ” 

Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and sad¬ 
dened to see that there were tears in his eyes. There were 
tears in his voice, too, as he answered: 

“ It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I 
am. I shall sink lower and be worse.” 

He leaned an elbow on her table and covered his eyes 
with his hand. The table trembled in the silence that fol¬ 
lowed. She had never seen him softened, and was much 
distressed. He knew her to be so, without looking at her, 
and said: 

“ Forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 145 

knowledge of what I want to say to you. Will you hear 
me?” 

“If it wall do you any good, Mr. Carton. If it would 
make you happier, it would make me very glad.” 

“ God bless you for your sweet compassion! ” 

He unshaded his face, after a little while, and spoke 
steadily. 

“ Don't be afraid to hear me. Don’t shrink from any¬ 
thing I say. I am like one who died young. All my life 
might have been.” 

“ No, Mr. Carton, I am sure that the best part of it 
might still be. I am sure that you might be much, much 
worthier of yourself.” 

“ Say of you, Miss Manette, and although I know better 
— although in the mystery of my own wretched heart I 
know better — I shall never forget it! ” 

She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with 
a fixed despair of himself, which made the interview unlike 
any other that could have been held. 

“ If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could 
have returned the love of the man you see before you — 
self flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse, 
as you know him to be — he would have been conscious, 
this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would 
bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, 
blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know 
very well that you can have no tenderness for me. I ask 
none. I am even thankful that it cannot be.” 

“ Without it can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not 
recall you — forgive me again — to a better course? I know 
this is a confidence,” she modestly said, after a little hesita¬ 
tion, and in earnest tears, “ I know you would say this to 
no one else. Can I turn it to no good account for yourself, 
Mr. Carton ? ” 


146 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


He shook his head. 

“ To none, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me 
through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is 
done. I wish you to know that you have been the last 
dream of my soul. The sight of you with your father 
and of this home, made such a home by you, has stirred 
old shadows that I thought had died out of me. I have been 
troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach 
me again and have heard whispers from old voices impelling 
me upward that I thought were silent forever. I have had 
unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking 
off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned 
fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and 
leaves the sleeper where he lay down; but I wish you to 
know that you inspired it.” 

“ Will nothing of it remain? Oh, Mr. Carton, think again! 
Try again! ” 

“ No, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself 
to be quit§ undeserving; and yet I have had the weakness 
to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you 
kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire — a fire, 
however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening 
nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning 
away.” 

“ Since it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have made you 
more unhappy than you were before you knew me — ” 

“ Don’t say that, Miss Manette, for you would have re¬ 
claimed me, if anything could. You will not be the cause 
of my becoming worse.” 

“ Since the state of your mind that you describe is, at all 
events, attributable to some influence of mine — this is what 
I mean, if I can make it plain —can I use no influence 
to serve you? Have I no power for good with you at all? ” 

“ The utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Ma- 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


147 


nette, I have come here to realize. Let me carry through 
the rest of my misdirected life, the remembrance that I 
opened my heart to you last of all the world and that there 
was something left in me that you could deplore and pity.” 

“ Which I entreated you to believe again and again, 
most fervently, with all my heart, was capable of better 
things, Mr. Carton! ” 

“ Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I 
have proved myself and I know better. I distress you. I 
draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, when I recall 
this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed 
in your pure and innocent breast and that it lies there 
alone, and will be shared with no one ? ” 

“ If that will be a consolation to you, yes.” 

“ Not even to the dearest one ever to be known to you? ” 

“ Mr. Carton,” she answered, after an agitated pause, 
“ the secret is yours, not mine; and I promise to respect 
it.” 

“ Thank you. And again, God bless you.” 

He put her hand to his lips and moved towards the door. 

“ Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever 
resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. 
I will never refer to it again. If I were dead, that could 
not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of my 
death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance — and 
shall thank and bless you for it — that my last avowal of 
myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and 
miseries were gently carried in your heart. May it otherwise 
be light and happy! ” 

He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, 
and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, 
and how much he every day kept down, that Lucie Manette 
wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her. 

“Be comforted! ” he said, “I am not worth such feel- 


148 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


ing, Miss Manette. An hour or two hence, and the low 
companions that I scorn, but yield to, will render me less 
worthy such tears as those than any wretch who creeps 
along the streets. Be comforted! But within myself, I shall 
always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly 
I shall be what you have heretofore seen me. The last 
supplication, but one, is that you will believe this of me.” 

“ I will, Mr. Carton.” 

“ My last supplication of all is this: and with it I will 
relieve you of a visitor with whom I well know you have 
nothing in unison, and between whom and you there is an 
impassable space. It is useless to say it, I know, but it rises 
out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would 
do anything. If my career were of that better kind, that 
there was any opportunity of sacrifice in it, I would em¬ 
brace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try 
to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, ardent and 
sincere in this one thing. The time will not be long in com¬ 
ing, when new ties will be formed about you — ties that 
will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home 
you so adorn — the dearest ties that will ever grace and 
gladden you. Oh, Miss Manette, when the little picture of a 
happy father’s face looks up in yours, when you see your 
own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think 
now and then that there is a man who would give his life 
to keep a life you love beside you! ” 

He said, “ Farewell! ” said a last “ God bless you! ” and 
left her. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


149 


CHAPTER XI 
THE HONEST TRADESMAN 


S ITTING on his stool in Fleet Street, Jerry Cruncher 
made out that some kind of funeral procession was 
coming along, attended by a mob and a big uproar in the 
streets. 

“ Young Jerry. It’s a buryin’.” 

“ Hooroar, father! ” 

The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with 
mysterious significance. The elder gentleman took the cry 
so ill that he watched his opportunity and smote the young 
gentleman on the ear. 

“ What d’ye mean ? What are you hooroaring at ? What 
do you want to conwey to your own father, you young rip ? 
This boy is getting too many for me! Him and his 
hooroars! Don’t let me hear no more of you, or you shall 
feel some more of me. D’ye hear? ” 

“ I warn’t doing no harm,” Young Jerry protested, 
rubbing his cheek. 

“ Drop it then. I won’t have none of your no harms. 
Get atop of that there seat, and look at the crowd.” 

His son obeyed and the crowd approached. They were 
bawling and hissing round a dingy hearse and one dingy 
mourning coach, in which there was one mourner. He was 
not in a very comfortable position as the rabble surrounded 
him, deriding him, making grimaces at him, incessantly 
groaning and calling out, “Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! 
Spies! ” with many compliments too numerous and forcible 
to repeat. 

Funerals had at all times a great attraction for Mr. 
Cruncher. He asked the first man who ran against him: 
“What is it, brother? What’s it about?” 


150 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“I don’t know,” said the man. “Spies! Yaha! Tst! 
Spies! ” 

He asked another man: 

“Who is it?” 

“/ don’t know,” returned the man, clapping his hands 
to his mouth nevertheless and calling out angrily and very 
forcibly: 

“Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!” 

At length a person better informed tumbled against 
him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was 
the funeral of Roger Cly. 

“Was he a spy?” asked Jerry. 

“Old Bailey spy. Yaha! Tst! Yah! Old Bailey 
Spi-i-es! ” 

“Why to be sure!” exclaimed Jerry, recalling the 
trial at which he had assisted. “ I’ve seen him. Dead, is 
he?” 

“ Dead as mutton, and can’t be too dead. Have ’em 
out, there! Spies! Pull ’em out, there! Spies! ” 

The idea was so acceptable that the crowd mobbed the 
two vehicles which had to stop. When they opened the 
coach doors, the one mourner scuffled out and was in their 
hands for a moment; but he was so alert, and made such 
good use of his time, that in another moment he was 
scurrying away up a by-street, after shedding his cloak, 
hat, long hatband, and other symbolical tears. These the 
people tore to ribbons and scattered far and wide. They 
opened the hearse to take the coffin out, when some genius 
proposed, instead, to escort it to the cemetery with a 
joyful celebration. This suggestion was received with ac¬ 
clamation, and the coach was immediately filled with eight 
inside and a dozen out, while as many people got on the 
roof of the hearse as could stick upon it. Jerry was one 
of the first to get inside, where he modestly concealed his 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


151 


spiky head from the observation of Tellson’s, in the further 
corner of the mourning coach. 

The remodeled procession started, with a chimney sweep 
driving the hearse. A man who went around with a trained 
bear, a popular street character of the time, was impressed 
as an additional ornament, and his bear, who was black 
and very mangy, gave quite an undertaking air to that part 
of the procession in which he walked. 

Its destination was the old Church of Saint Pancras, far 
off in the fields. It got there in the course of time, and 
finally accomplished the interment of the deceased Roger 
Cly in its own way, and highly to its own satisfaction. 

Mr. Cruncher did not assist at these closing sports. He 
remained, however, in the churchyard, to confer and con¬ 
dole with the undertakers. The place seemed to have a 
soothing influence on him. He procured a pipe from a 
neighboring public house and smoked it, looking in at the 
railings and maturely considering the spot. 

“ Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, talking to himself, “ you 
see that there Cly that day, and you see with your own 
eyes that he was a young 'un and a straight made ’un.” 

Whether his meditations made him feel less well or 
whether his general health had been previously amiss is 
not so much to the purpose as that he made a call upon 
his medical adviser, a distinguished surgeon, on his way 
back. 

“ Now I tell you what it is! ” said Mr. Cruncher to his 
wife. “ If, as a honest tradesman, my wentures goes wrong 
tonight, I shall make sure that youVe been praying agin 
me, and I shall work you for it just the same as if I seen 
you do it.” 

The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head. 

“ Why, you’re at it afore my face! ” he exclaimed, with 
signs of angry apprehension. 


152 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ I am saying nothing.” 

“ Well then, don’t meditate nothing. You might as well 
flop as meditate. You may as well go agin me one way 
as another. Drop it altogether.” 

“ Yes, Jerry.” 

“ Yes, Jerry,” repeated Mr. Cruncher, sitting down to 
tea. “Ah! It is yes, Jerry. That’s about it. You may 
say yes, Jerry.” 

“You are going out tonight?” asked his decent wife. 

“ Yes, I am.” 

“May I go with you, father?” asked his son briskly. 

“ No, you mayn’t. I’m agoing — as your mother knows 
—afishing. That’s where I’m going to. Going afishing.” 

“ Your fishing rod gets rayther rusty, don’t it, father? ” 

“ Never you mind.” 

“ Shall you bring any fish home, father ? ” 

“ If I don’t you’ll have short commons tomorrow. That’s 
questions enough for you. I ain’t agoing out till you’ve been 
long abed.” 

He devoted himself, during the remainder of the evening, 
to keeping a most vigilant watch on Mrs. Cruncher and 
sullenly holding her in conversation that she might be pre¬ 
vented from meditating any petitions to his disadvantage. 

“And mind you,” he said, “no games tomorrow. If I, 
as a honest tradesman, succeed in providing a jint of meat 
or two, none of your not touching of it, and sticking to 
bread. — If I, as a honest tradesman, am able to provide a 
little beer, none of your declaring on water. When you go to 
Rome, do as Rome does. Rome will be a ugly customer to 
you if you don’t. I’m your Rome, you know. — With your 
flying into the face of your own wittles and dtink! I don’t 
know how scarce you mayn’t make the wittles and drink 
here, by your floppin’ tricks and your unfeeling conduct. 
Look at your boy. He is your’n, ain’t he? He’s as thin 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 153 

as a lath. Do you call yourself a mother, and not know that 
a mother’s first duty is to blow her boy out ? ” 

Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncher family 
until young Jerry was ordered to bed. Mr. Cruncher 
beguiled the earlier watches of the night with solitary pipes 
and did not start upon his excursion until nearly one o’clock. 
Towards that small and ghostly hour, he rose up from his 
chair, took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cup¬ 
board, and brought forth a sack, crowbar, rope, chain, and 
other fishing tackle of that nature. Disposing these articles 
about him in a skillful manner, he bestowed a parting 
defiance on Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished the light and 
went out. 

Young Jerry, who had only made a pretense of undressing 
when he went to bed, was not long after his father. Under 
cover of the darkness, he followed out of the room, down 
the court, and out into the street. He was not worried 
about getting into the house again, for it was full of 
lodgers, and the door stood open all night. Young Jerry, 
keeping close to house fronts, walls, and doorways, held his 
honored parent in view. Soon his honored parent was 
joined by another fisherman, and the two trudged on to¬ 
gether. 

Within half an hour from the first starting they were be¬ 
yond the winking lamps, and the more than winking watch¬ 
man, and were out upon a lonely road. Another fisherman 
was picked up here, and that, so silently, that if young 
Jerry had been superstitious he might have supposed the 
second fisherman to have, all of a sudden, split himself into 
two. 

The three went on, and young Jerry went on, until the 
three stopped under a bank overhanging the road. Upon 
the top of the bank was a low brick wall, surmounted by an 
iron railing. The wall was about eight or ten feet high. 


154 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

Crouching down in a corner young Jerry saw the form of his 
honored parent nimbly scaling an iron gate. He was soon 
over, and then the second fisherman got over, and then 
the third. They all dropped softly on the ground within 
the gate, and lay there a little — listening perhaps. Then 
they moved away on their hands and knees. 

It was now young Jerry’s turn to approach the gate, 
which he did, holding his breath. Crouching down again 
in a corner there and looking in, he made out the three 
fishermen creeping through some rank grass, and all the 
gravestones in the churchyard — it was a large churchyard 
that they were in — looking on like ghosts in white, while 
the church tower itself looked on like the ghost of a mon¬ 
strous giant. They did not creep far before they stopped 
and stood upright. And then they began to fish. 

They fished with a spade at first. Presently the honored 
parent appeared to be adjusting some instrument like a 
great corkscrew. Whatever tools they worked with, they 
worked hard, until the awful striking of the church clock 
so terrified young Jerry, that he made off, with his hair 
as stiff as his father’s. 

But his long-cherished desire to know more about these 
matters not only stopped him in his running away but 
lured him back again. They were still fishing perseveringly 
when he looked in at the gate for the second time, but now 
they seemed to have got a bite. There was a screwing and 
complaining sound down below, and their bent figures were 
strained as if by a weight. By slow degrees the weight 
broke the earth upon it and came to the surface. Young 
Jerry very well knew what it would be; but when he saw 
it, and saw his honored parent about to wrench it open, 
he was so frightened that he made off again, and never 
stopped until he had run a mile or more. He had a strong 
idea that the coffin he had seen was running after him and 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


155 


hopping on behind him, bolt upright, upon its narrow end, 
always on the point of overtaking him. But if he had 
waited just a little longer in the cemetery he w T ould have 
learned that the coffin contained nothing more than a lot 
of rocks and stones. It had been a pretended funeral. The 
friend of Roger Cly had brought this about so that he could 
escape the mobs and leave the country. 

Young Jerry was awakened after daybreak and before 
sunrise by the presence of his father in the family room. 
Something had gone wrong with him; at least young Jerry 
inferred this from the circumstance of his holding Mrs. 
Cruncher by the ears'and knocking the back of her head 
against the headboard of the bed. 

“ I told you I would,” said Mr. Cruncher, “ and I did.” 

“ Jerry, Jerry, Jerry! ” his wife implored. 

“ You oppose yourself to the profit of the business, and 
me and my partners suffer. You was to honor and obey. 
Why the devil don’t you ? ” 

“ I try to be a good wife to you, Jerry,” the poor woman 
protested with tears. 

“ Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband’s 
business? Is it obeying your husband to dishonor his 
business? Is it obeying your husband to disobey him on 
the wital subject of his business?” 

“ You hadn’t taken to the dreadful business then, Jerry.” 

“ It’s enough for you to be the wife of a honest trades¬ 
man, and not to occupy your female mind with calculations 
when he took to his trade or when he didn’t. A honoring 
and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether. Call 
yourself a religious woman? If you’re a religious woman, 
give me a irreligious one! You have no more natural sense 
of duty than the bed of this Thames River has of a pile, 
and similarly it must be knocked into you.” 

The honest tradesman kicked off his clay-soiled boots 


156 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


and lay down on the floor. After taking a timid peep at him 
lying on his back, with his rusty hands under his head for 
a pillow, his son lay down, too, and fell asleep again. 

There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of any¬ 
thing else. Mr. Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of 
temper, and kept an iron pot lid by him as a projectile 
for the correction of Mrs. Cruncher, in case he should ob¬ 
serve any symptoms of her saying Grace. He was brushed 
and washed at the usual hour, and set off with his son to 
pursue his ostensible calling. 

Young Jerry, walking along by his father, was a very 
different young Jerry from him of the previous night, 
running home through darkness and solitude, from his 
grim pursuer. 

“ Father,” he said as they walked along, taking care to 
keep at arm’s length and to have the stool well between 
them: 

“What’s a resurrection man?” 

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement, before 
he answered: 

“ How should I know ? ” 

“I thought you knowed everything, father.’* 

“ Hem! Well, — he’s a tradesman,” said Mr. Cruncher, 
going on. 

“ What’s his goods, father? ” asked the brisk young Jerry. 

“ His goods,” said his father, walking on and lifting off 
his hat to give his spikes free play, “ is a branch of scien¬ 
tific goods.” 

“ Persons’ bodies, ain’t it, father? ” asked the lively boy. 

“ I believe it is something of that sort.” 

“ Oh, father, I should so like to be a resurrection man 
when I’m quite growed up! ” 

Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a du¬ 
bious and moral way. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


157 


“ It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be 
careful to dewelop your talents, and never* to say no more 
than you can help to nobody, and there’s no telling at the 
present time what you may not come to be fit for.” 

As young Jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few yards 
in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, 
Mr. Cruncher added to himself: 

“ Jerry, you honest tradesman, there’s hopes wot that 
boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you 
for his mother! ” 


CHAPTER XII 
KNITTING 

T HERE had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine 
shop of Monsieur Defarge. As early as six o’clock 
in the morning, sallow faces, looking through the windows, 
had seen other faces within, bending over measures of 
wine. This had been the third morning in succession on 
which there had been early drinking at the wine shop of 
Monsieur Defarge. But there had been more of brooding 
than drinking, for many men had listened and whispered 
who could not have laid a piece of money on the counter 
to save their souls. 

A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind 
were perhaps observed by the spies who looked in at the 
wine shop, as they looked in at every place, high and low, 
from the King’s palace to the criminal’s jail. Games at 
cards languished; players at dominoes musingly built 
towers with them; and drinkers drew figures on the tables 
with spilt drops of wine. It seemed as if they were all 
waiting for some one. 

It was high noontide when two dusty men passed through 


158 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


the streets of Saint Antoine and under the swinging lamps; 
one was Monsieur Defarge and the other a mender of roads 
in a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the two entered the 
wine shop. 

“ Good day, gentlemen! ” said Monsieur Defarge. 

It may have been a signal for loosening the general 
tongue. It elicited an answering chorus of “ Good- day! ” 

“ It is bad weather, gentlemen,” said Defarge, shaking 
his head. 

Upon which every man looked at his neighbor, and then 
all cast down their eyes and sat silent. Except one man, 
who got up and went out. 

“ My wife,” said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame De¬ 
farge, who presided at the counter: “ I have traveled cer¬ 
tain miles with this good mender of roads, called Jacques. 
I met him — by accident — a day and a half’s journey 
out of Paris. He is a good child, this mender of roads 
called Jacques. Give him to drink, my wife! ” 

A second man got up and went out. Madame Defarge 
set wine before the mender of roads called Jacques, who 
doffed his blue cap to the company, and drank. In the 
breast of his blue blouse he carried some coarse dark bread. 
He ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drink¬ 
ing near Madame Defarge’s counter. A third man got up 
and went out. Defarge refreshed himself with a draught 
of wine, and stood waiting until the countryman had fin¬ 
ished. Madame Defarge took up her knitting and was 
absorbed in her work. 

“ Have you finished your repast, friend?” asked De¬ 
farge. 

“ Yes, thank you.” 

“ Come, then! You shall see the apartment that I 
told you you could occupy. It will suit you to a 
marvel.” 


As early as six o’clock in the morning, sallow faces, looking through the windows, had seen other 
faces within, bending over measures of wine. 













































































































































































































































































160 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

They went out of the wine shop into a courtyard and then 
up a steep staircase to a garret — formerly the garret where 
a white-haired man made shoes. No white-haired man 
was there now, but, the three men were there, who had gone 
out of the wine shop singly. 

Defarge closed the door carefully and spoke in a sub¬ 
dued voice: 

“ Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three! This is 
the witness encountered by me, Jacques Four. He will 
tell you all. Speak, Jacques Five! ” 

The mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wiped his swarthy 
forehead with it and said: 

“ Where shall I commence, monsieur ? ” 

“ Commence at the commencement,” said Defarge. 

“ I saw him then, messieurs, a year ago this summer, 
underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging by the 
chain. Behold the manner of it. I, leaving my work on 
the road, the sun going to bed, the carriage of the Marquis 
slowly ascending the hill, he hanging by the chain — like 
this.” 

Again the mender of roads went through the whole per¬ 
formance, in which he ought to have been perfect by that 
time, seeing that it had been the entertainment of his village 
during a whole year. 

“ Had you ever seen the man before ? ” Jacques One 
asked. 

“ Never.” 

“ How did you afterwards recognize him then? ” Jacques 
Three demanded. 

“ By his tall figure. When Monsieur the Marquis de¬ 
mands that evening, 'Say, what is he like?’ I make re¬ 
sponse, ‘ Tall as a spectre/ ” 

“ You should have said, ‘ Short as a dwarf/ ” returned 
Jacques Two. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


161 

u But what did I know ? The deed was not then accom¬ 
plished. Neither did he confide in me. Observe! Under 
the circumstances, even, I do not offer my testimony. Mon¬ 
sieur the Marquis indicates me with his finger, standing near 
our little fountain, and says, 'To me! Bring that ras¬ 
cal! ’ My faith, messieurs, I offer nothing.” 

“ He is right there, Jacques,” murmured Defarge. “ Go 
on! ” 

“ Good! ” said the mender of roads, with an air of 
mystery. 

“ The tall man is lost, and he is sought — how many 
months ? Nine, ten, eleven ? ” 

"No matter the number,” said Defarge. “ He is well 
hidden, but at last is unluckily found. Go on! ” 

“ I am again at work upon the hillside, and the sun is 
about to go to bed. I am collecting my tools to descend 
to my cottage down in the village below, where it is already 
dark, when I raise my eyes and see coming over the hill, 
six soldiers. In the midst of them is a tall man with his 
arms bound, — tied to his sides — like this! ” 

With the aid of his indispensable blue cap he repre¬ 
sented a man with his elbows bound fast a‘t his hips, with 
cords that were knotted behind him. 

“ I stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see 
the soldiers and their prisoner pass. At first, as they ap¬ 
proach, I see no more than that they are six soldiers with 
a tall man bound; that they are covered with dust, and 
that the dust moves with them as they come, tramp, tramp! 
But when they advance quite near to me, I recognize the 
tall man, and he recognizes me. Ah, but he would be well 
content to precipitate himself over the hillside once again, 
as on the evening when he and I first encountered, close 
to the spot. 

“ I do not show the soldiers that I recognize the tall man. 


162 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

He does not show the soldiers that he recognizes me. We 
do it, and we know it, with our eyes.” 

“ 1 Come on/ says the chief of that company, pointing 
to the village. ‘ Bring him fast to his tomb! ’ and they 
bring him faster. I follow. His arms are swelled because 
of being bound so tight. His wooden shoes are large and 
clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, and conse¬ 
quently slow, they drive him with their guns — like this! ” 

He imitated the action of a man’s being impelled forward 
by the butt-ends of muskets. 

“ As they descend the hill like madmen running a race, 
he falls. They laugh and pick him up again. His face is 
bleeding and covered with dust, but he cannot touch it; 
thereupon they laugh again. They bring him into the vil¬ 
lage. All the village runs to look. They take him past the 
mill and up to the prison. All the village sees the prison 
gate open in the darkness of the night, and swallow him — 
like this! ” 

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut it 
with a sounding snap of his teeth. Observant of his un¬ 
willingness to mar the effect by opening it again, Defarge 
said, “ Go on, Jacques.” 

“ All the village,” pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe 
and in a low voice, “withdraws. All the village whispers 
by the fountain. All the village sleeps. All the village 
dreams of that unhappy one, within the locks and bars 
of the prison on the crag, and never to come out of it, except 
to perish. In the morning, with my tools on my shoulder, 
eating my morsel of black bread as I go, I make a circuit 
by the prison, on my way to my work. There I see him, 
high up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, bloody and 
dusty as last night, looking through. He has no hand free, 
to wave to me. I dare not call to him. He regards me like 
a dead man.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 163 

Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The 
looks of all were repressed and revengeful. 

“ Go on, Jacques,” said Defarge. 

“ He remains up there in his iron cage some days. The 
village looks at him by stealth, for it is afraid. But it always 
looks up, from a distance, at the prison on the crag. In 
the evening, when the work of the day is done, and it 
assembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned 
towards the prison. Formerly they were turned towards 
the posting-house; now they are turned towards the prison. 
They whisper at the fountain that, although condemned 
to death, he will not be executed. They say that petitions 
have been presented* in Paris, showing that he was enraged 
and made mad by the death of his child. They say that a 
petition has been presented to the King himself. What do 
I know? It is possible. Perhaps yes, perhaps no.” 

“ Listen then, Jacques,” Number One of that name sternly 
interposed. “ Know that a petition was presented to the 
King and Queen. All here, except yourself, saw the King 
take it, in his carriage in the street, sitting beside the 
Queen. It is Defarge, whom you see here, who at the risk 
of his life darted out before the horses, with the petition 
in his hand.” 

“ And listen once again, Jacques,” said Number Three, 
“ the guard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner, and 
struck him blows. You hear? ” 

“ I hear, messieurs.” 

“ Go on then,” said Defarge. 

“ Again, on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain 
that he is brought down into our country to be executed on 
the spot and that he will very certainly be executed. They 
even whisper that, because he has slain Monseigneur and 
because Monseigneur was the father of his tenants — serfs 
— what you will — he will be executed as a parricide. One 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


164 

old man at the fountain says that his right hand, armed with 
the knife, will be burned off before his face; that, into 
wounds which will be made in his arms, his breast and his 
legs, there will be poured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, 
wax, and sulphur; finally, that he will be torn limb from 
limb by four strong horses. That old man says all this 
was actually done to a prisoner 1 who made an attempt on 
the life of the late king, Louis Fifteen. But how do I know 
if he lies? I am not a scholar.” 

“Listen once again then, Jacques! ” said Number One. 
“ The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it was all 
done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; 
and there were crowds of ladies of quality and fashion, 
who were full of eager attention to the last — to the last, 
Jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when he had lost two legs 
and an arm, and still breathed! And it was done — why, 
how old are you ? ” 

“ Thirty-five,” said the road mender, who looked sixty. 

“ It was done when you were more than ten years old. 
You might have seen it.” 

" Enough! ” said Defarge, with grim impatience. “ Long 
live the devil! Go on! ” 

“Well! Some whisper this, some whisper that. They 
speak of nothing else. Even the fountain appears to fall 
to that tune. At length, on Sunday night when all the 
village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from the 
prison and their guns ring on the stones of the little street. 
Workmen dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing. 
In the morning by the fountain, there is raised a gallows 
forty feet high, a sight to make anybody sick who would 
drink the water of the fountain. It is just as if they had 
poisoned the water.” 

1 In 1757, Robert Francois Damiens, a soldier and servant, unsuc¬ 
cessfully tried to stab Louis XV to death. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


165 


The mender of roads looked through rather than at 
the low ceiling, and pointed as if he saw the gallows some¬ 
where in the sky. 

“ All work is stopped. All assemble there. Nobody leads 
the cows out; the cows are there with the rest. At midday, 
the roll of drums. Soldiers have marched into the prison 
in the night, and he is in the midst of many soldiers. He 
is bound as before, and in his mouth there is a gag — tied 
so, with a tight string, making him look almost as if he 
laughed.” 

He suggested it, by creasing his face with his two thumbs, 
from the corners of his mouth to his ears. 

“ On the top of the gallows is fixed the knife, blade up¬ 
wards, with its point in the air. He is hanged there forty 
feet high — and is left hanging, poisoning the water.” 

They looked at one another, as he used his blue cap to 
wipe his face, on which the perspiration had started afresh 
when he recalled the spectacle. 

“ It is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and 
children draw water! Who can gossip of an evening under 
that shadow! Under it, have I said? When I left the vil¬ 
lage as the sun was going down to bed and looked back 
from the hill, the shadow struck across the church, across 
the mill, across the prison — seemed to strike across the 
earth, messieurs, to where the sky rests upon it! That’s all. 
I left at sunset (as I had been warned to do), and I 
walked on, that night and half next day, until I met (as I 
was warned I should) this comrade. With him I came 
on, now riding and now walking, through the rest of 
yesterday and through last night. And here you see 
me! ” 

After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said: 

“ Good! You have acted and recounted faithfully. Will 
you wait for us a little, outside the door ? ” 


166 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Very willingly,” said the mender of roads. Defarge 
escorted him to the top of the stairs, left him seated there, 
and then returned. The three had risen, and their heads 
were together when he came back to the garret. 

“ How say you, Jacques? ” demanded Number One. “ To 
be registered ? ” 

“ To be registered as doomed to destruction,” returned 
Defarge. 

“Magnificent! ” croaked the man with the craving for 
bloodshed (Jacques Three). 

“The chateau and all the race?” inquired the first. 

“ The chateau and all the race,” returned Defarge. “ Ex¬ 
termination.” 

“ Are you sure,” asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, “ that 
no embarrassment can arise from our manner of keeping 
the register? Without doubt it is safe, for no one beyond 
ourselves can decipher it; but shall we always be able to 
decipher it — or, I ought to say, will she ? ” 

“Jacques,” returned Defarge, drawing himself up, “if 
madame my wife undertook to keep the register in her 
memory alone, she would not lose a word of it — not a 
syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and her own 
symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Con¬ 
fide in Madame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest 
coward that lives to erase himself from existence than to 
erase one letter of his name or crimes from the knitted 
register of Madame Defarge.” 

“ Is this rustic to be sent back soon? ” Jacques Two asked. 
“ I hope so. He is very simple. Is he not a little dan¬ 
gerous ? ” 

“ He knows nothing,” said Defarge; “ at least nothing 
more than would easily elevate himself to a gallows of the 
same height. I charge myself with him. Let him remain 
with me. I will take care of him and set him on his road. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 167 

He wishes to see the fine world — the King, Queen, and 
Court. Let him see them on Sunday.” 

Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being 
found already dozing on the topmost stair, was advised 
to lay himself down on the bed on the floor and take some 
rest. He needed no persuasion, and was soon asleep. 

Worse quarters than Defarge’s wine shop could easily 
have been found in Paris for a countrified slave of that 
degree. Except for a dread of madame, his life was very 
new and agreeable. But madame sat all day at her counter, 
so expressly unconscious of him that he shook in his 
wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. For he 
felt that it was impossible to tell what she might pretend 
next. He believed that, if she took it into her brightly 
ornamented head to pretend that she had seen him do a 
murder, she would go through with it until the play was 
played out. 

Therefore when Sunday came, the mender of roads was 
not enchanted, though he said he was, to find that madame 
was to accompany Monsieur and himself to Versailles about 
twelve miles from Paris. It was disconcerting to have 
madame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance. 
It was additionally disconcerting to have Madame in the 
crowd in the afternoon, still with her knitting in her hands, 
as the crowd waited to see the carriage of the King and 
Queen. 

“ You work hard, madame,” said a man near her. 

“ Yes, I have a good deal to do.” 

“ What do you make, madame ? ” 

“ Many things.” 

“ For instance ? ” 

“ For instance,” Madame answered composedly, 
“ shrouds.” 1 


2 grave clothes 


168 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

The man moved a little farther away as soon as he could, 
and the mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap, 
feeling the air to be mightily close and oppressive. If he 
needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was fortunate 
in having his remedy at hand; for soon the large-faced 
King and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, 
attended by a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and 
fine lords in jewels, silks, and splendor. Then there were 
gardens, courtyards, terraces, fountains, more elegance. The 
mender of roads was so overcome that he shouted and even 
wept with sentimental admiration. He cried, “ Long live 
the King, Long live the Queen, Long live everybody and 
everything! ” as if he had never heard of Jacques in his 
time. 

“ Bravo! ” said Defarge, clapping him on the back when 
it was over, “ you are a good boy! ” 

The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and 
was mistrustful of having made a mistake in his late demon¬ 
strations; but no. 

“ You are the fellow we want,” said Defarge in his ear, 
“ you make these fools believe that it will last forever. 
Then they are the more insolent, and it is the nearer 
ended.” 

“Hey! ” cried the mender of roads, reflectively, “that’s 
true.” 

“ These fools know nothing,” said Defarge. “ While they 
despise your breath and would stop it forever and ever in 
you or in a hundred like you, rather than in one of their 
horses or dogs, they only know what your breath tells 
them. Let it deceive them, then, a little longer. It cannot 
deceive them too much.” 

Madame looked superciliously at the road mender and 
nodded in confirmation: 

“ As to you,” she said, “ you would shout and shed tears 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 169 

for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say, would 
you not? ” 

“ Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment.” 

“Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable 
to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers 
for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds 
of the finest feathers, would you not ? ” 

“ It is true, madame.” 

“ You have seen both dolls and birds today,” she said, 
with a wave of her hand. “ Now, go home.” 

* * * 

Madame Defarge and her husband returned to Saint 
Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the 
darkness, and through the dust, down the weary miles of 
avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point 
of the compass where the chateau of the Marquis, now in his 
grave, listened to the whispering trees. The Defarges came 
lumbering under the starlight, in their public carriage, to 
that part of Paris whereunto their journey tended. There 
was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the 
usual lanterns came glancing forth for the usual examina¬ 
tion and inquiry. Monsieur Defarge alighted, knowing 
one or two of the soldiers there, and one of the police. 
The latter he was intimate with, and affectionately em¬ 
braced. 

When they reached Saint Antoine and were picking their 
way on foot through the black mud of the streets, Madame 
Defarge spoke to her husband: 

“ Say then, my husband, what did Jacques of the police 
tell you ? ” 

“ Very little, but all he knows. There is another spy 
commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, 
for all that he can say, but he knows of one.” 


168 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


The man moved a little farther away as soon as he could, 
and the mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap, 
feeling the air to be mightily close and oppressive. If he 
needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was fortunate 
in having his remedy at hand; for soon the large-faced 
King and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, 
attended by a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and 
fine lords in jewels, silks, and splendor. Then there were 
gardens, courtyards, terraces, fountains, more elegance. The 
mender of roads was so overcome that he shouted and even 
wept with sentimental admiration. He cried, “ Long live 
the King, Long live the Queen, Long live everybody and 
everything! ” as if he had never heard of Jacques in his 
time. 

“ Bravo! ” said Defarge, clapping him on the back when 
it was over, “ you are a good boy! ” 

The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and 
was mistrustful of having made a mistake in his late demon¬ 
strations; but no. 

“ You are the fellow we want,” said Defarge in his ear, 
“ you make these fools believe that it will last forever. 
Then they are the more insolent, and it is the nearer 
ended.” 

“ Hey! ” cried the mender of roads, reflectively, “ that’s 
true.” 

“ These fools know nothing,” said Defarge. “ While they 
despise your breath and would stop it forever and ever in 
you or in a hundred like you, rather than in one of their 
horses or dogs, they only know what your breath tells 
them. Let it deceive them, then, a little longer. It cannot 
deceive them too much.” 

Madame looked superciliously at the road mender and 
nodded in confirmation: 

“ As to you,” she said, “ you would shout and shed tears 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 169 

for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say, would 
you not ? ” 

“ Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment.” 

“Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable 
to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers 
for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds 
of the finest feathers, would you not ? ” 

“ It is true, madame.” 

“ You have seen both dolls and birds today,” she said, 
with a wave of her hand. “ Now, go home.” 

* * * 

Madame Defarge and her husband returned to Saint 
Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the 
darkness, and through the dust, down the weary miles of 
avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point 
of the compass where the chateau of the Marquis, now in his 
grave, listened to the whispering trees. The Defarges came 
lumbering under the starlight, in their public carriage, to 
that part of Paris whereunto their journey tended. There 
was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the 
usual lanterns came glancing forth for the usual examina¬ 
tion and inquiry. Monsieur Defarge alighted, knowing 
one or two of the soldiers there, and one of the police. 
The latter he was intimate with, and affectionately em¬ 
braced. 

When they reached Saint Antoine and were picking their 
way on foot through the black mud of the streets, Madame 
Defarge spoke to her husband: 

“ Say then, my husband, what did Jacques of the police 
tell you ? ” 

“ Very little, but all he knows. There is another spy 
commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, 
for all that he can say, but he knows of one.” 


170 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

“ Eh well! ” said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows 
with a cool business air. “ It is necessary to register him. 
How do they call that man? ” 

“ He is English.” 

“ So much the better. His name ? ” 

“ Barsad,” said Defarge, spelling it. 

“ Barsad. Good. Christian name?” 

“ John.” 

“ John Barsad. Good. His appearance, is it known? ” 

“Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; 
black hair; complexion dark; rather handsome face; eyes 
dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not 
straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left 
cheek; expression, therefore, treacherous.” 

“ Eh, my faith. It is a portrait! ” said Madame, laughing. 
“ He shall be registered tomorrow.” 

They turned into the wine shop, which was closed (for 
it was midnight). Madame Defarge immediately took her 
post at her desk, counted the small moneys that had been 
taken during her absence, went through the entries in the 
books, checked the serving man in every possible way, and 
finally dismissed him to bed. Then she turned out the con¬ 
tents of the bowl of money for the second time and began 
knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain of sep¬ 
arate knots, for safe keeping through the night. All this 
while Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and 
down, admiring, but never interfering. 

The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and sur¬ 
rounded by so foul a neighborhood, was ill-smelling. Mon¬ 
sieur Defarge whiffed the compound of scents away, as he 
put down his smoked-out pipe. 

“ You are fatigued,” said madame, raising her glance as 
she knotted the money. “ There are only the usual odors.” 

“lama little tired.” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


171 

“ You are a little depressed, too,” said madame, whose 
quick eyes had never been so intent on the accounts but 
they had had a ray or two for him. “ Oh, the men, the 
men! ” 

“But my dear! ” began Defarge. 

“But my dear!” repeated madame, nodding firmly; 
“ but my dear! You are faint of heart tonight, my dear! ” 

“ Well, then,” said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung 
out of his breast, “ it is a long time.” 

“ It is a long time,” repeated his wife; “ and when is it 
not a long time? Vengeance and retribution require a long 
time. It is the rule.” 

“ It does not take a long time to strike a man with 
lightning.” 

“ How long,” demanded madame composedly, “ does it 
take to make and store the lightning? Tell me.” 

Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were 
something in that, too. 

“ It does not take a long time,” said madame, “ for an 
earthquake to swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how 
long it takes to prepare the earthquake ? ” 

“ A long time, I suppose,” said Defarge. 

“ But when it is ready, it takes place and grinds to pieces 
everything before it. In the meantime, it is always pre¬ 
paring, though it is not seen or heard. That is your consola¬ 
tion. Keep it.” 

She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe. 

“ I tell you,” said madame, extending her right hand for 
emphasis, “ that although it is a long time on the road, it is 
on the road and coming. I tell you it never retreats, and 
never stops. I tell you it is always advancing. Look 
around and consider the lives of all the world that we know, 
consider the faces* of all the world that we know, consider 
the rage and discontent to which the Jacquerie addresses 


172 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

itself with more and more of certainty every hour. Can 
such things last? Bah! I mock you.” 

“ My brave wife,” returned Defarge, standing before her 
with his head a little bent and his hands clasped at his back, 
“ I do not question all this. But it has lasted a long time, 
and it is possible —you know, my wife, it is possible — 
that it may not come, during our lives.” 

“Eh well! How then?” demanded madame, tying an¬ 
other knot, as if there were another enemy strangled. 

“ Well! ” said Defarge in a half-complaining tone, “ we 
shall not see the triumph.” 

“ We shall have helped it,” returned madame. “ Nothing 
that we do is done in vain. I believe, with all my soul, that 
we shall see the triumph. But even if not, even if I knew 
certainly not, show me the neck of an aristocrat and tyrant, 
and still I would — ” 

Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible 
knot indeed. 

“ Hold! ” cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt 
charged with cowardice; “ I too, my dear, will stop at noth¬ 
ing.” 

“ Yes! But it is your weakness that you sometimes need 
to see your victim and your opportunity to sustain you. 
Sustain yourself without that. When the time comes, 
let loose a tiger and a devil, but wait for the time with 
the tiger and the devil chained — not shown — yet always 
ready.” 

Madame enforced this advice by striking her little counter 
with her chain of money, as if she knocked its brains out, 
and then gathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm 
in a serene manner, and observing that it was time to go to 
bed. 

Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual 
place in the wine shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


173 


lay beside her, and she glanced at it now and then. There 
were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing 
or seated, sprinkled about. A figure entering at the door 
threw a shadow on Madame Defarge which she felt to be a 
new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to pin her 
rose in her headdress, before she looked at the figure. 

It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up 
the rose, the customers ceased talking, and began gradually 
to drop out of the wine shop. 

“ Good day, madame,” said the newcomer. 

“ Good day, monsieur.” 

She said it aloud, but added to herself, as she resumed 
her knitting: 

“ Hah! Good day, age about forty; height about five feet 
nine; black hair; rather handsome face; complexion dark; 
eyes dark; thin, long, and sallow face; nose prominent, hav¬ 
ing a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek which 
imparts a treacherous expression! Good day, one and all! ” 

“ Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac 
and a mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.” 

Madame complied with a polite air. 

“ Marvelous cognac, this, madame! ” 

It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, 
and Madame Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to 
know better. She said, however, that the cognac was 
flattered, and took up her knitting. The visitor watched 
her fingers for a few minutes, and took the opportunity of 
observing the place in general. 

“ You knit with great skill, madame.” 

“ I am accustomed to it.” 

“ A pretty pattern, too.” 

“ You think so?” she said calmly, looking at him with 
a smile. 

“ Decidedly. May fine ask what it is for? ” 


174 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Pastime,” said madame, still looking at him with a smile. 

“ Not for use? ” 

“ That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If 
I do — well,” said madame, drawing her breath and nodding 
her head with a stern kind of playfulness, “ I’ll use it! ” 

It was remarkable, but the people of Saint Antoine did 
not seem to like the rose on the headdress of Madame De- 
farge. Two men had entered separately and had been 
about to order drink when, catching sight of that novelty, 
they faltered, made a pretence of looking about as if for 
some friend who was not there, and went away. Nor was 
there one left of those who had been there when this 
visitor entered. They had all dropped off. The spy had 
kept his eyes open, but had not been able to detect any 
sign. They had lounged away in a poverty-stricken, pur¬ 
poseless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeach¬ 
able. 

“ John,” thought madame, checking off her work as her 
fingers knitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger. “ Stay 
long enough, and I shall knit Barsad before you go.” 

“ You have a husband, madame? ” 

“ I have.” 

“ Children? ” 

“ No children.” 

“ Business seems bad.” 

“ Business is very bad. The people are so poor.” 

“Ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, 
too, as you say.” 

“ As you say,” madame retorted, correcting him and 
deftly knitting an extra something into his name that boded 
him no good. 

“ Pardon me. Certainly it was I who said so, but you 
naturally think so. Of course.” 

“I think?” returned madame in a high voice. “I and 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


175 


my husband have enough to do to keep this wine shop 
open without thinking. All we think here is how to live. 
That is the subject we think of, and it gives us, from morn¬ 
ing to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing 
our heads about others. I think for others? No, no.” 

The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could 
iind or make, did not allow his baffled state to express 
itself in his sinister face; but stood, with an air of gossiping 
gallantry, leaning on Madame Defarge’s little counter and 
occasionally sipping his cognac. 

“ A bad business, this, madame, of Gaspard’s execution. 
Ah! the poor Gaspard! ” With a sigh of great compassion. 

“ My faith! ” returned madame coolly and lightly, “ if 
people use knives for such purposes, they have to pay for 
it. He knew beforehand what the price of his luxury was. 
He has paid the price.” 

“ I believe,” said the spy, dropping his voice to a tone 
that invited confidence, “ I believe there is much compassion 
and anger in this neighborhood, touching the poor fellow? 
(Between ourselves.) ” 

“ Is there ? ” asked Madame vacantly. 

“ Is there not ? ” 

“— Here is my husband! ” said Madame Defarge. 

As the keeper of the wine shop entered at the door, the 
spy saluted him by touching his hat and saying with an 
engaging smile: 

“Good day, Jacques! ” 

Defarge stopped short and stared at him. 

“ Good day, Jacques! ” the spy repeated, with not quite 
so much confidence, or quite so easy a smile, under the 
stare. 

“You deceive yourself, monsieur,” returned the keeper 
of the wine shop. “ You mistake me for another. That is 
not my name. I am Ernest Defarge.” 


176 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“It is all the same,” said the spy, airily, but discom¬ 
fited, “ good day! ” 

“ Good day! ” answered Defarge, drily. 

“ I was saying to madame, with whom I had the pleasure 
of chatting when you entered, that they tell me there is — 
and no wonder — much sympathy and anger in Saint An¬ 
toine, touching the unhappy fate of poor Gaspard.” 

“ No one has told me so,” said Defarge shaking his head, 
“ I know nothing of it.” 

Having said it, he passed behind the little counter and 
stood with his hand on the back of his wife’s chair, looking 
over that barrier at the person to whom they were both 
opposed and whom either of them would have shot with 
the greatest satisfaction. 

The spy, well used to his business, did not change his 
unconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, 
took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass of 
cognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for him, took to 
her knitting again and hummed a little song over it. 

“You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, 
better than I do? ” observed Defarge. 

“ Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so pro¬ 
foundly interested in its miserable inhabitants.” 

“ Hah! ” muttered Defarge. 

“ The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur De¬ 
farge, recalls to me that I have the honor of cherishing 
some interesting associations with your name.” 

“ Indeed! ” said Defarge, with much indifference. 

“ Yes, indeed. When Doctor Manette was released, you, 
his old servant, had the charge of him, I know. He was de¬ 
livered to you. You see I am informed of the circum¬ 
stance.” 

“ Such is the fact, certainly,” said Defarge. He had it 
conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife’s elbow 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 177 

as she knitted and hummed her song, that he would do best 
to answer, but with brevity. 

“It was to you that his daughter came; and it was from 
your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a 
neat brown monsieur; how is he called? — in a little wig 
— Lorry — of the bank of Tellson and Company — over 
in England.” 

“ Such is the fact,” repeated Defarge. 

“Very interesting remembrances!” said the spy. “I 
have known Doctor Manette and his daughter in England.” 

“Yes?” said Defarge. 

“ You don’t hear much about them now? ” said the spy. 

“ No,” said Defarge. 

“ In effect,” madame struck in, looking up from her work 
and her little song, “ we never hear about them. We re¬ 
ceived the news of their safe arrival and perhaps another 
letter, or perhaps two; but since then, they have gradually 
taken their road in life — we ours — and we have held 
no correspondence.” 

“ Perfectly so, madame. She is going to be married.” 

“ Going ? ” echoed madame. “ She was pretty enough 
to have been married long ago. You English are cold, it 
seems to me.” 

“ Oh! You know I am English ? ” 

“ I perceive your tongue is, and what the tongue is, I 
suppose the man is.” 

He did not take the identification as a compliment; but 
he made the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After 
sipping his cognac to the end, he added: 

“ Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married, but not to 
an Englishman. She is going to marry one who, like herself, 
is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah, poor 
Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that 
she is going to marry the nephew of Monsieur the Marquis, 


178 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so many 
feet; in other words, the present Marquis. But he lives 
unknown in England. He is no Marquis there. He is Mr. 
Charles Darnay. D’Aulnais is the name of his mother’s 
family.” 

Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the news had a 
great effect upon her husband. Do what he w’ould, behind 
the little counter, as to the striking of a light and the 
lighting of his pipe, he was troubled, and his hand trembled 
greatly. The spy would have been no spy if he had failed 
to see it or to record it in his mind. 

Having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might 
prove to be worth, and no customers coming in to help him 
to any other, Mr. Barsad paid for what he had drunk and 
took his leave, saying in a genteel manner, before he de¬ 
parted, that he looked forward to the pleasure of seeing 
Monsieur and Madame Defarge again. 

For some minutes the husband and wife remained exactly 
as he had left them, lest he should come back. 

“ Can it be true,” said Defarge, in a low voice, looking 
down at his wife, as he stood smoking with his hand on the 
back of her chair, “ what he has said of Ma’amselle Ma- 
nette ? ” 

“ As he has said it,” retorted madame, lifting her eyebrows 
a little, “ it is probably false. But it may be true.” 

“ If it is — ” Defarge began, and stopped. 

“ If it is? ” repeated his wife. 

“ — And if it does come, while we live to see it triumph 
— I hope, for her sake, Destiny will keep her husband out 
of France.” 

“ Her husband’s destiny will take him where he is to go 
and will lead him to the end that is to end him. That is 
all I know.” 

“ But it is very strange — now, at least, is it not very 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


179 


strange ” — said Defarge, rather pleading with his wife to 
induce her to admit it, “ that after all our sympathy for 
Monsieur her father and herself, her husband’s name should 
be proscribed under your hand at this moment by the side 
of that infernal dog’s who has just left us ? ” 

“ Stranger things than that will happen when' it does 
come. I have them both here, of a certainty; and they are 
both here for their merits; that is enough.” 

She rolled up her knitting when she had said those words, 
and presently took the rose out of the handkerchief that 
was wound about her head. The people in Saint Antoine 
either had an instinctive sense that the objectionable decora¬ 
tion was gone, or were on the watch for its disappearance, 
for they came lounging in very shortly, and the wine shop 
recovered its habitual aspect. 

In the evening the people of this suburb generally sat on 
doorsteps and window ledges, and came to the corners of 
vile streets and courts for a breath of air. Then Madame 
Defarge, with her work in her hand, was accustomed to 
pass from place to place and from group to group like others 
of her kind, preparing the poor people for the works of 
vengeance which were sometime to be made against the 
rich. 

Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with 
admiration. 

“ A great woman,” he said, “ a strong woman, a grand 
woman, a frightfully grand woman! ” 


180 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER XIII 
ONE NIGHT 

N EVER did the sun go down with a brighter glory on 
the quiet corner in Soho than one memorable evening 
when the Doctor and his daughter sat under the plane tree 
together. Never did the moon rise with a milder radiance 
over great London than on that night when it found them 
still seated under the tree and shone upon their faces through 
its leaves. 

Lucie was to be married tomorrow. She had reserved this 
last evening for her father, and they sat alone under the 
plane tree. 

“You are quite happy, my father?” 

“ Quite, my child.” 

They had said little, though they had been there a long 
time. When it was yet light enough to work and read, she 
had neither read nor sewed, as she had been accustomed 
to do at other times. This time was not quite like any 
other, and nothing could make it so. 

“ And I am very happy tonight, dear father. I am deeply 
happy in my love for Charles, and his love for me. But 
if my life were not to be still consecrated to you, or if my 
marriage were so arranged as that it would separate us, 
even by the length of a few of these streets, I should be 
more unhappy and self-reproachful now than I could tell 
you. Even as it is — ” 

Even as it was, she could not command her voice. 

In the sad moonlight she clasped him by the neck and 
laid her face upon his breast. 

“ Dearest dear! Can you tell me this last time that you 
feel quite, quite sure no new affections of mine and no new 
duties of mine will ever interpose between us? I know it 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 181 

well, but dc you know it? In your own heart, do you feel 
quite certain? ” 

“ Quite sure, my darling! More than that,” he added, 
as he tenderly kissed her; “ my future is far brighter, Lucie, 
seen through your marriage, than it could have been with¬ 
out it.” 

“ If I could hope that, my father! — ” 

“ Believe it, love! Indeed it is so. Consider how natural 
and how plain it is, my dear, that it should be so. You, 
devoted and young, cannot fully appreciate the anxiety I 
have felt that your life should not be wasted — ” 

She moved her hand towards his lips, but he t<?ok it in 
his, and repeated the word. 

“ — wasted, my child — should not be wasted, struck 
aside from the natural order of things — for my sake. Your 
unselfishness cannot entirely comprehend how much my 
mind has gone on this; but only ask yourself, how could my 
happiness be perfect while yours was incomplete ? ” 

“ If I had never seen Charles, my father, I should have 
been quite happy with you.” 

He smiled at her unconscious admission that she would 
have been unhappy without Charles, having seen him, and 
replied: 

“ My child, you did see him, and it is Charles. If it had 
not been Charles, it would have been another. I should have 
been the cause, and then the dark part of my life would 
have cast its shadow beyond myself, and would have fallen 
on you.” 

It was the first time, except at the trial, of her ever hear¬ 
ing him refer to the period of his suffering. It gave her 
a strange and new sensation. 

“ See! ” said the Doctor of Beauvais, raising his hand 
towards the moon. “ I have looked at her from my prison 
window when I could not bear her light. I have looked 


182 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


at her when it has been such torture to me to think of her 
shining upon what I had lost that I have beaten my head 
against my prison walls. I have looked at her, in a state 
so dull and lethargic, that I have thought of nothing but 
the number of horizontal lines I could draw across her at the 
full and the number of perpendicular lines with which I could 
intersect them.” He added in his inward and pondering man¬ 
ner, as he looked at the moon, “ It was twenty either way, I 
remember, and the twentieth was difficult to squeeze in.” 

The strange thrill with which she heard him go back 
to that time deepened as he dwelt upon it, but there was 
nothing ‘to shock her in the manner of his reference. He 
only seemed to contrast his present happiness with the 
suffering that was over. 

“ I have looked at her, speculating thousands of times, 
upon my child that I had never seen. Whether it was 
alive. Whether it was a son who would some day avenge 
his father. (There was a time in my imprisonment when 
my desire for vengeance was unbearable.) Whether it was 
a son who would never know his father’s story. Whether 
it was a daughter who would grow to be a woman.” 

She drew closer to him and kissed his cheek and hand. 

“ I have pictured my daughter to myself as perfectly for¬ 
getful of me — rather, altogether ignorant of me, and un¬ 
conscious of me. I have cast up the years of her age, year 
after year. I have seen her married to a man who knew 
nothing of my fate. I have altogether perished from the 
remembrance of the living, and in the next generation my 
place was a blank.” 

“ My father! Even to hear that you had such thoughts 
of a daughter who never existed strikes to my heart as if 
I had been that child.” 

“ You, Lucie? It is out of the consolation and restoration 
you have brought to me, that these remembrances arise, and 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 183 

pass between ns and the moon on this last night. — What 
did I say just now? ” 

“ She knew nothing of you. She cared nothing for you.” 

“ So! But on other moonlight nights, when the sadness 
and the silence have touched me in a different way — I have 
imagined her in the moonlight coming to me and taking 
me out to show me that the home of her married life was 
full of her loving remembrance of her lost father. My pic¬ 
ture was in her room, and I was in her prayers. Her life 
was active, cheerful, useful, but my poor history pervaded 
it all.” 

“ I was that child, my father. I was not half so good, 
but in my love, that was I.” 

“And she showed me her children,” said the Doctor of 
Beauvais, “ and they had heard of me, and had been taught 
to pity me. When they passed a prison of the State, they 
kept far from its frowning walls, and looked up at its bars, 
and spoke in whispers. She could never deliver me. I 
imagined that she always brought me back after showing 
me such things. But, then, blessed with the relief of tears, 
I fell upon my knees, and blessed her.” 

“ I am that child, I hope, my father. 0 my dear, my 
dear, will you bless me as fervently tomorrow ? ” 

“ Lucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I 
have tonight for loving you better than words can tell 
and thanking God for my great happiness. My thoughts, 
when they were wildest, never rose near the happiness that 
I have known with you and that we have before us.” 

Doctor Manette was very cheerful at the little supper. 
They were 4)nly three at table, and Miss Pross made the 
third. He regretted that Charles was not there; was more 
than half-disposed to object to the loving little plot that 
kept him away, and drank to him affectionately. 

So the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and 


184 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


they separated. But in the stillness of the third hour of 
the morning Lucie came downstairs again, and stole into 
his room, not free from unshaped fears. All things however 
were in their places. All was quiet, and he lay asleep, his 
white hair picturesque and his hands lying quiet on the 
coverlet. She put her needless candle in the shadow at a 
distance, crept up to his bed, and kissed him. Into his 
handsome face the bitter waters of captivity had worn, 
but he covered up their tracks with a strong determination 
that showed, even in his sleep. A more remarkable face 
was not to be seen in all the wide dominion of sleep that 
night. She timidly laid her hand on his dear breast and put 
up a prayer that she might ever be as true to him as her 
love aspired to be and as his sorrows deserved. Then she 
kissed him once more and went away. 


CHAPTER XIV 
NINE DAYS 

T HE marriage day was shining brightly; and they were 
ready outside the closed door of Doctor Manette’s 
room, where he was speaking with Charles Darnay. They 
were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, Mr. Lorry, 
and Miss Pross — to whom the event would have been one 
of absolute bliss (through a gradual process of reconcile¬ 
ment), but for the yet lingering consideration that her 
brother Solomon should have been the bridegroom. 

“ And so,” said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently ad¬ 
mire the bride and who had been moving round her to take 
in every point of her quiet, pretty dress, “ and so it was 
for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you across the 
Channel, such a baby! Lord bless me! How little I thought 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 185 

what I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation 
I was conferring on my friend Mr. Charles! ” 

“ You didn’t mean it,” remarked the matter-of-fact Miss 
Pross, “and therefore how could you know it? Non¬ 
sense! ” 

“ Really? Well, but don’t cry,” said the gentle Mr. 
Lorry. 

“I am not crying,” said Miss Pross; “ you are.” 

“I, my Pross? ” (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be 
pleasant with her, on occasion.) 

“ You were just now. I saw you do it, and I don’t won¬ 
der at it. Such a present of silverware as you have made 
’em is enough to bring tears into anybody’s eyes. There’s 
not a fork or a spoon in the collection that I didn’t cry 
over last night after the box came, till I couldn’t see it.” 

“ I am highly gratified,” said Mr. Lorry, “ though I had 
no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remem¬ 
brance invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion 
that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, 
dear! To think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, 
any time these fifty years, almost! ” 

“ Not at all! ” from Miss Pross. 

“ You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry? ” 

“ Pooh ! you were a bachelor in your cradle.” 

“Well! ” observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his 
little wig, “ that seems probable, too.” 

“ And you were cut out for a bachelor before you were 
put in your cradle.” 

“ Then I think that I was very unhandsomely dealt with 
and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my 
pattern. Enough! Now, my dear Lucie,” drawing his 
arm soothingly round her waist, “ I hear them moving in the 
next room, and Miss Pross and I are anxious not to lose 
the final opportunity of saying something to you that you 


186 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

wish to hear. You leave your good father, my dear, in hands 
as earnest and loving as your own. He shall be taken every 
care of during the next two weeks while you are in Warwick¬ 
shire and thereabouts. Even Tellson’s shall go to the wall 
(comparatively speaking) before him. And when, at the 
end of the two weeks he comes to join you and your beloved 
husband on your other two weeks’ trip in Wales, you shall 
say that we have sent him to you in the best health and in 
the happiest frame. Now I hear Somebody’s step coming 
to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned 
bachelor blessing before Somebody comes to claim his own.” 

The door of the Doctor’s room opened, and he came out 
with Charles Darnay. He was so deadly pale — which had 
not been the case when they went in together — that no 
vestige of color was to be seen in his face. But in the 
composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to 
the shrewd glance of Mr. Lorry it disclosed some shadowy 
indication that the old air of avoidance and dread had 
lately passed over him. 

He gave his arm to his daughter, and took her downstairs 
to the carriage which Mr. Lorry had hired in honor of the 
day. The rest followed in another carriage, and soon, in a 
neighboring church where no strange eyes looked on, Charles 
Darnay and Lucie Manette were happily married. 

Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles 
of the little group when it was done, some diamonds, very 
bright and sparkling, glanced on the bride’s hand, which 
were newly released from one of Mr. Lorry’s pockets. They 
returned home to breakfast, and all went well. In due 
course the golden hair that had mingled with the poor shoe¬ 
maker’s white locks in the Paris garret was mingled with 
them again in the morning sunlight, on the threshold of the 
door at parting. 

It was a hard parting, though it was not for long. But 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 187 

her father cheered her, and said at last, disengaging himself 
from her enfolding arms: 

“ Take her, Charles! She is yours! ” 

And her agitated hand waved to them from the carriage 
window, and she was gone. 

When they returned into the shade of the hall, Mr. Lorry 
noticed a change to have come over the Doctor. He had 
the old scared look, and an absent manner of clasping his 
head and drearily wandering away into his own room. 

“ I think,” Mr. Lorry whispered to Miss Pross, after 
anxious consideration, “ I think we had best not speak to 
him just now, or at all disturb him. I must look in at Tell¬ 
son’s; so I will go there at once and come back presently. 
Then we will take him for a ride into the country, and dine 
there, and all will be well.” 

It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look in at Tellson’s than to 
look out of Tellson’s. He was detained two hours. When 
he came back, he ascended the staircase alone, having asked 
no question of the servant. Going into the Doctor’s room, 
he was stopped by a low sound of knocking. 

“ Good God! ” he said with a start. “ What’s that? ” 

Miss Pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. “ 0 me, 
O me! All is lost! ” she cried, wringing her hands. “ What 
is to be told to Ladybird? He doesn’t know me, and is 
making shoes! ” 

Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her and went into 
the Doctor’s room. The bench was turned towards the light, 
as it had been when he had seen the shoemaker at his work 
before, and his head was bent down, and he was very busy. 

“Doctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette! ” 

The Doctor looked at him for a moment — half- 
inquiringly, half as if he were angry at being spoken to — 
and bent over his work again. 

He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was 


188 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


open at the throat, as it used to be when he did that work; 
and even the old haggard, faded surface of face had come 
back to him. He worked hard — impatiently — as if in 
some sense of having been interrupted. 

Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed 
that it was a shoe of the old size and shape. He took up 
another that was lying by him, and asked what it was. 

“A young lady’s walking shoe,” he muttered, without 
looking up. “ It ought to have been finished long ago. 
Let it be.” 

“ But, Doctor Manette. Look at me.” 

He obeyed, in the old submissive way, without pausing 
in his work. 

“ You know me, my dear friend? Think again. This is 
not your proper occupation. Think, dear friend! ” 

Nothing could induce him to speak more. He looked up, 
for an instant at a time, when he was requested to do so; 
but no persuasion would extract a word from him. He 
worked, and worked, in silence, and words fell on him as 
they would have fallen on an echoless wall, or on the air. 

Two things impressed themselves on Mr. Lorry imme¬ 
diately; that this must be kept from Lucie and that it must 
be kept from all who knew him. With the assistance of 
Miss Pross he gave out notice that the Doctor was not 
well, and to Lucie Miss Pross wrote that her father had 
been called away professionally. In the hope of his re¬ 
covery Mr. Lorry resolved to watch the Doctor constantly, 
but without the appearance of doing so. He absented 
himself from Tellson’s for the first time in his life, and 
took his post by the window in the same room with Doc¬ 
tor Manette. Here he remained, reading, writing, and 
trying in as many pleasant and natural ways as he could 
think of to influence his friend back to his normal state of 
mind. Miss Pross and he divided the night into two 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


189 


watches and observed him at intervals from the adjoining 
room. He paced up and down for a long time before he lay 
down; but when he did lay himself down, he fell asleep. In 
the morning he was up early and went straight to his bench 
and to work. The time went very slowly on, and Mr. Lorry’s 
hope darkened; his heart grew heavier and heavier every 
day. The third day came and went, the fourth, the fifth, 
sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth day. The secret was well 
kept, and Lucie was unconscious and happy; but the 
shoemaker, whose hand had been a little out at first, was 
growing dreadfully skillful; and he had never been so intent 
on his work, and his hands had never been so nimble, as in 
the dusk of the ninth evening. 

Worn out by anxious watching Mr. Lorry fell asleep at 
his post. The next morning, of the tenth day, he was 
startled by the shining of the sun into the room where a 
heavy slumber had overtaken him when it was dark night. 
He roused himself, but he doubted, when he had done so, 
whether he was not still asleep. For going to the door of 
the Doctor’s room and looking in, he perceived that the 
shoemaker’s bench and tools were put aside again and that 
the Doctor himself sat reading at the window. He was 
in his usual morning dress, and his face, though still very 
pale, was calmly studious and attentive. Mr. Lorry felt 
giddily uncertain, for a few moments, whether the late 
shoemaking might not be a disturbed dream of his own. 
But this was only for a short space of time; for if it were 
not true how came he, Jarvis Lorry, to have fallen asleep 
in his clothes on the sofa of Doctor Manette’s consulting 
room and to be debating these points outside the Doctor’s 
bedroom door in the early morning? - 

Within a few minutes Miss Pross. stood whispering at his 
side. If he had had any particle of doubt left, her talk 
would have dissolved it. But he was by that time clear- 


190 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


headed and had none. He advised that they should let the 
time go by until the regular breakfast hour, and should 
then meet the Doctor as if nothing unusual had occurred. 

Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme 
was worked out with care. Mr. Lorry presented himself at 
the breakfast hour in his usual white linen. The Doctor 
was summoned in the usual way and came to breakfast. It 
was evident that he at first supposed his daughter’s mar¬ 
riage had taken place yesterday. An incidental allusion, on 
purpose, to the day of the week and the day of the month 
seemed to make him uneasy. In all other respects he was 
himself. 

After breakfast, when he and the Doctor were left to¬ 
gether, Mr. Lorry said feelingly: 

“ My dear Manette, I am anxious to have your opinion, 
in confidence, on a very curious case in which I am deeply 
interested. That is to say, it is very curious to me; perhaps 
to your better information it may be less so.” 

Glancing at his hands, which were discolored by his late 
work, the Doctor looked troubled, and listened atten¬ 
tively. He had already glanced at his hands more than 
once. 

“ Doctor Manette,” said Mr. Lorry, touching him affec¬ 
tionately on the arm, “ the case is that of a particularly 
dear friend of mine. Please give your mind to it, and ad¬ 
vise me well for his sake — and above all, for his daughter’s 
sake, my dear Manette.” 

Mr. Lorry cared so much for these friends that he wanted 
to help them in every way possible. He knew that Doctor 
Manette would never speak of his time in the Bastille, the 
cause and effects, so he made believe that he was consulting 
him about some one else. But he really was anxious to find 
out the cause of Doctor Manette’s relapse, and see if some¬ 
thing could not be done to prevent another. While he 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


191 


pretended that he was talking about some one else, the 
Doctor knew that his own condition was being described. 
He was troubled and depressed but answered the questions 
gladly and even gratefully, knowing Mr. Lorry to be his 
best friend. As to a medical adviser, Mr. Lorry asked the 
questions whether too much work, too much study, too 
much thinking about his misfortunes without ever saying 
anything about them to any one might not be injurious. 
After much conversation Doctor Manette replied that these 
were not the causes of such a relapse; that the cause had 
been a vivid remembrance of something connected closely 
with the misfortune; that there was not much danger of 
another relapse since the revival of old associations causing 
the misfortune had been met and finally overcome. Mr. 
Lorry was very happy to hear Doctor Manette express this 
hope for the future. However, there w^as one more question 
that he wanted to settle. It had never seemed to him to 
be good for Doctor Manette to keep the shoemaking 
outfit constantly in his sight, reminding him always of the 
imprisonment in the Bastille. He did not like to speak 
of it but at this time he felt that it was necessary. 
Still pretending to be talking of some one else he led up 
to the subject of abolishing the shoemaking outfit en¬ 
tirely. In the case being presented he called it a black- 
smithing outfit, a forge and tools, saying at last to his 
friend: 

“ Is it not a pity that he should always keep this outfit 
by him? ” 

It was not so easy to answer this question. The Doctor 
shaded his forehead with his hand and beat his foot nerv¬ 
ously on the floor. 

“ He has always kept it by him,” said Mr. Lorry, with 
an anxious look at his friend. “ Now, would it not be 
better that he should let it go ? ” 


192 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Still the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot 
nervously on the floor. 

“ You do not find it easy to advise me? ” said Mr. Lorry. 
“ I quite understand it to be a nice question. And yet I 
think — ” And there he shook his head and stopped. 

“ You see,” said Doctor Manette, turning to him after an 
uneasy pause, “ it is very hard to explain the innermost 
workings of this poor man’s mind. He once yearned so 
frightfully for that occupation, and it was so welcome when 
it came, that he has never been able to bear the thought 
of putting it quite out of his reach. Even now, when I be¬ 
lieve he is more hopeful of himself than he has ever been, 
and even speaks of himself with a kind of confidence, the 
idea that he might need that old employment and not find 
it gives him a sudden sense of terror, like that which one 
may fancy strikes to the heart of a lost child/’ He looked 
like his illustration as he raised his eyes to Mr. Lorry’s 
face. 

“But may not — mind! I ask for information, as a 
plodding man of business — may not the retention of the 
thing involve the retention of the idea? If the thing were 
gone, my dear Manette, might not the fear go with it ? ” 

There was another silence. 

“ You see, too,” said the Doctor, tremulously, “ it is such 
an old companion.” 

“ I would not keep it,” said Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. 
“ I would recommend him to sacrifice it. I only want your 
authority. I am sure it does no good. Come! Give me 
your authority, like a dear good man. For his daughter’s 
sake, my dear Manette! ” 

Very strange to see what a struggle there was within 
him! Finally he answered: 

“ In her name, then, let it be done. I sanction it. But 
I would not take it away while he was present. Let it be 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 193 

removed when he is not there. Let him miss his old com¬ 
panion after an absence.” 

Mr. Lorry readily promised, and the conference was 
ended. They passed the day in the country, and the Doc¬ 
tor was quite restored. On the three following days he re¬ 
mained perfectly well, and on the fourteenth day he went 
away to join Lucie and her husband on the two weeks’ trip 
through Wales. 

On the night of the day on which he left the house Mr. 
Lorry went into his room with a hatchet, saw, and hammer, 
attended by Miss Pross carrying a light. There, with closed 
doors, and in a mysterious and guilty manner, Mr. Lorry 
hacked the shoemaker’s bench to pieces, wdiile Miss Pross 
held the candle as if she were assisting at a murder. The 
burning of the bench was commenced without delay in the 
kitchen fire, and the tools, shoes, and leather were buried 
in the garden. So wicked do destruction and secrecy appear 
to honest minds that Mr. Lorry and Miss Pross almost felt, 
and almost looked, like accomplices in a horrible crime. 


CHAPTER XV 
A PLEA 

W HEN the newly married pair came home, the first 
person who appeared to offer his congratulations was 
Sydney Carton. They had not been at home many hours 
when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, 
or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air 
of fidelity about him which was new to the observation of 
Charles Darnay. 

He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into 
a window and of speaking to him when no one overheard. 


194 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Mr. Darnay, I wish we might be friends.” 

“ We are already friends, I hope.” 

“ You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech, 
but I don’t mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I 
say I wish we might be friends, I scarcely mean quite that, 
either.” 

Charles Darnay, as was natural, asked him in all good 
humor and good fellowship, what he did mean. 

“ Upon my life,” said Carton smiling, “ I find that easier 
to comprehend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. 
However, let me try. You remember a certain famous 
occasion when I was more drunk than — usual? ” 

“ I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced 
me to confess that you had been drinking.” 

“ I remember it, too. The curse of those occasions 
is heavy upon me, for I always remember them. I hope 
it may be taken into account one day, when all days are 
at an end for me! Don’t be alarmed. I am not going to 
preach.” 

“ I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you is anything 
but alarming to me.” 

“Ah! ” said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, 
as if he waved that away. “ On the drunken occasion in 
question (one of a large number, as you know), I was in¬ 
sufferable about liking you and not liking you. I wish you 
would forget it.” 

“ I forgot it long ago.” 

“ Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is 
not so easy to me as you represent it to be to you. I have 
by no means forgotten it, and a light answer does not help 
me to forget it.” 

“ If it was a light answer, I beg your forgiveness for it. 
I had no other object than to turn a slight thing which, 
to my surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


195 


declare to you that I have long dismissed it from my mind. 
Good Heaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had 
nothing more important to remember in the great service 
you rendered me that day ? ” 

“ As to the great service, I am bound to avow to you, 
when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere profes¬ 
sional claptrap. I don’t know that I cared what became 
of you when I rendered it. —Mind! I say when I ren¬ 
dered it. I am speaking of the past.” 

“ You make light of the obligation, but I will not quarrel 
with your light answer.” 

“ Genuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! I have gone 
aside from my purpose. I was speaking about our being 
friends. Now, you know me. You know I am incapable 
of all the higher and better flights of men. If you doubt 
it, ask Stryver, and he’ll tell you so.” 

“ I prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of 
his.” 

“Well! At any rate, you know me as a dissolute dog, 
who has never done any good, and never will.” 

“ I don’t know that you never will.” 

“ But I do; and you must take my word for it. Well, if 
you could endure to have such a worthless fellow coming 
and going at odd times, I should ask that I might be per¬ 
mitted to come and go as a privileged person here; that 
I might be regarded as a useless (and I would add, if it 
were not for the resemblance between you and me), an un¬ 
ornamental piece of furniture tolerated for its old service, 
and taken no notice of. I doubt that I should abuse the 
permission. It is a hundred to one if I should avail myself 
of it four times in a year. It would satisfy me to know that 
I had it.” 

“ Will you try? ” 

“ That is another way to say I am placed on the footing 


196 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


I have indicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that 
freedom with your name ? ” 

“ I think so, Carton, by this time.” 

They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. 
Within a minute afterwards, he was, to all outward ap¬ 
pearances, as unsubstantial as ever. 

When he was gone, in the course of an evening passed 
with Miss Pross, the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles 
Darnay made some mention of this conversation in general 
terms and spoke of Sydney Carton as a problem of care¬ 
lessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, not 
bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody 
might who saw him as he showed himself. 

He had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts 
of his fair young wife; but when he afterwards joined 
her in their own rooms, he found her waiting for him 
with the old pretty lifting of the forehead strongly 
marked. 

“ We are thoughtful tonight! ” said Darnay, drawing his 
arm about her. 

“ Yes, dearest Charles,” with her hands on his breast, and 
the inquiring and attentive expression fixed upon him; “ we 
are rather thoughtful tonight for we have something on our 
mind tonight.” 

“What is it, my Lucie?” 

“ Will you promise not to press one question on me, if I 
beg you not to ask it ? ” 

“ Will I promise ? What will I not promise to my love ? ” 

What, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair 
from the cheek and his other hand against the heart that 
beat for him! 

“ I think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deserves more con¬ 
sideration and respect than you expressed for him tonight.” 

“ Indeed, my own, why so ? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 197 

“ That is what you are not to ask me. But I think — 
I know — he does.” 

“ If you know it, it is enough. What would you have 
me do, my life ? ” 

“ I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him 
always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I 
would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very 
seldom reveals and that there are deep wounds in it. My 
dear, I have seen it bleeding.” 

“ It is a painful reflection to me,” said Charles Darnay, 
quite astonished, “ that I should have done him any wrong. 
I never thought this of him.” 

“ My husband, it is so. I fear he is not to be reclaimed. 
There is scarcely a hope that anything in his character or 
fortunes is reparable now. But I am sure that he is capable 
of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.” 

She looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this 
lost man, that her husband could have looked at her as she 
was for hours. 

“ And, 0 my dearest love,” she urged, clinging nearer to 
him, laying her head upon his breast, and raising her eyes 
to his, “ remember how strong we are in our happiness, and 
how weak he is in his misery! ” 

The supplication touched him home. “ I will always 
remember it, dear heart! I will remember it as long as I 
live.” 

He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, 
and folded her in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then 
pacing the dark streets could have heard her innocent dis¬ 
closure and could have seen the tears of pity kissed away by 
her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of that hus¬ 
band, he might have cried to the night — and the words 
would not have parted from his lips for the first time — 
“ God bless her for her sweet compassion! ” 


198 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER XVI 
ECHOING FOOTSTEPS 

A WONDERFUL corner for echoes, that corner where 
the doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden 
thread which bound her husband, and her father, and her¬ 
self, and her old directress and companion in a life of 
quiet happiness, Lucie sat in the still house in the tran¬ 
quilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps 
of years. . 

Among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of tmy 
feet, and the sound of prattling words. The shady house 
was sunny with a child’s laugh; her little Lucie. 

Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them 
all together, Lucie heard in the echoes of years none but 
friendly and soothing sounds. Her husband’s step was 
strong and prosperous among them; her father’s firm and 
equa l— those of a successful physician in London. Lo, 
Miss Pross playing horse with little Lucie, in a harness of 
string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip- 
corrected, snorting, and pawing the ground under the plane 
tree in the garden! 

Even when there were sounds of sorrow they were not 
harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, 
lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, 
and he said with a radiant smile, “ Dear papa and mama, 
I am sorry to leave you and my pretty sister, but I am 
called and must go! ” those were not tears all of agony 
that wet his young mother’s cheek, as the spirit departed 
from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Thus 
the rustling of an Angel’s wings got blended with the other 
echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them 
that breath of Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


199 


a little garden tomb were mingled with them also, and 
both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed murmur — like 
the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore 
— as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the 
morning, or dressing a doll at her mother’s footstool, chat¬ 
tered in the French or English language, of the Two Cities 
that were blended in her life. 

The echoes rarely answered to the tread of Sydney Car¬ 
ton. Some half dozen times a year at most he claimed his 
privilege of coming in uninvited and would sit among them 
through the evening, as he had once done often. He never 
came there heated with wine and was always very quiet, 
but welcome. Lucie’s children loved him. Carton was the 
first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby 
arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. The 
little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. “ Poor 
Carton! Kiss him for me! ” 

Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some 
great engine forcing itself through turbid water, and 
dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed 
astern. As the boat so favored is usually in a rough plight 
and mostly under water, so Sydney had a swamped life of it. 
Stryver was rich. He had married a widow with property 
and three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about 
them but the straight hair of their dumpling heads. These 
three young gentlemen Mr. Stryver, in a very offensive, 
patronizing manner, had walked before him to the quiet 
corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie’s hus¬ 
band, saying coarsely: 

“ Halloa! here are three lumps of bread and cheese 
towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay! ” The polite 
rejection of the three lumps of bread and cheese had quite 
bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation, which he afterwards 
turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, 


200 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


by directing them to beware of the pride of beggars like 
that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming 
on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to “ catch ” 
him and on how he was too shrewd to be caught. 

There were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled 
menacingly all through this space of time. And it was now, 
about little Lucie’s sixth birthday, that they began to have 
an awful sound, as of a great storm in France, with a dread¬ 
ful sea rising. 

On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and 
eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came in late from Tellson’s and sat 
down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It 
was a hot wild night, and they were reminded of the old 
Sunday night when they had looked at the lightning from 
the same place. 

“ I began to think,” said Mr. Lorry, “ that I should have 
to pass the .night at Tellson’s. We have been so full of 
business all day that we have not known what to do first, 
or which way to turn. There is such an uneasiness in 
Paris that we have actually a run of confidence upon 
us. Our customers over there seem not to be able to 
confide their property to us fast enough. There is posi¬ 
tively a mania among some of them for sending it to 
England.” 

“ That has a bad look,” said Darnay. 

“A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we 
don’t know what reason there is in it. People are so un¬ 
reasonable! Some of us at Tellson’s are getting old, and 
we really can’t be troubled out of the ordinary course with¬ 
out due occasion.” 

“ Still, you know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.” 

“ I know that, to be sure; but I am determined to be 
peevish after my long day’s botheration. Where’s Ma- 
nette ? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 201 

“ Here he is,” said the Doctor, entering the dark room 
at the moment. 

“ I am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and 
forebodings by which I have been surrounded all day long 
have made me nervous without reason. You are not going 
out, I hope ? ” said Mr. Lorry. 

“No, I am going to play backgammon with you, if you 
like.” 

“ I don’t think I do like, if I may speak my mind. I 
am not fit to be pitted against you tonight. Is the tea- 
board still there, Lucie? I can’t see.” 

“ Of course, it has been kept for you.” 

“ Thank you, my dear. The precious child is safe in 
bed?” 

“ And sleeping soundly.” 

“ That’s right; all safe and well! I don’t know why any¬ 
thing should be otherwise than safe and well here, thank 
God; but I have been so put out all day, and I am not 
so young as I was! My tea, my dear! Thank you. Now 
come and take your place in the circle and let us sit quiet, 
and hear the echoes about which you have your theory.” 

“Not a theory; it was a fancy.” 

“ A fancy, then, my wise pet,” said Mr. Lorry, patting 
her hand. “ They are very numerous and loud, though, 
are they not ? Only hear them! ” 1 

* * * 

Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their 
way into anybody’s life, footsteps not easily made clean 
again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in Saint 
Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the dark London 
window. 

1 They were listening to the footsteps in Soho, London. Those in 
Paris were far different. 


202 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Saint Antoine had been that morning a vast dusky mass of 
scarecrows heaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light 
above the billowy heads, where steel blades and bayonets 
shone in the sun. A tremendous roar arose from the throat 
of Saint Antoine, and a forest of naked arms struggled in 
the air like shriveled branches of trees in a winter wind, all 
the fingers convulsively clutching at every weapon or sem¬ 
blance of a weapon that was thrown up from the depths 
below, no matter how far off. 

Who gave them out, whence they last came, where they 
began, through what agency they crookedly quivered and 
jerked, scores at a time, over the heads of the crowd, like 
a kind of lightning, no eye in the throng could have told; 
but guns were being distributed — so were cartridges, pow¬ 
der, and ball, bars of iron and wood, knives, axes, pikes, 
every weapon that distracted ingenuity could discover or 
invent. People who could lay hold of nothing else set 
themselves with bleeding hands to force stones and bricks 
out of their places in walls. Every pulse and heart in Saint 
Antoine was on high fever strain and at high fever heat. 
Every living creature there held life as of no account and 
was demented with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it. 

As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a center point, so 
all this raging circled round Defarge’s wine shop, and 
every human drop in the caldron had a tendency to be 
sucked towards the vortex where Defarge himself, already 
begrimed with gunpowder and sweat, issued orders, issued 
arms, thrust this man back, dragged this man forward, 
disarmed one to arm another, labored and' strove in the 
thickest of the uproar. 

“ Keep near to me, Jacques Three,” cried Defarge; “ and 
do you, Jacques One and Two, separate and put yourselves 
at the head of as many of these patriots as you can. Where 
is my wife ? ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


203 


“ Eh well! Here you see me! ” said madame composed 
as ever, but not knitting today. Madame’s resolute right 
hand was occupied with an ax, in place of knitting needles, 
and in her girdle were a pistol and a cruel knife. 

“ Where do you go, my wife ? ” 

“I go with you at present. You shall see me at the 
head of women by and by.” 

“ Come, then! ” cried Defarge, in a resounding voice. 
“Patriots and friends, we are ready! The Bastille! ” 

With a roar that sounded as if all the breath in France had 
been shaped into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave 
on wave, depth on depth, and overflowed the city to that 
point. Alarm bells ringing, drums beating, the sea raging 
and thundering on its new beach, the attack begun. 

Deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, 
eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. 
Through the fire and through the smoke — in the fire and 
in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a cannon, and 
on the instant he became a cannoneer — Defarge of the 
wine shop worked like a manful soldier. Two fierce hours. 

Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight 
great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. One draw¬ 
bridge down! “ Work, comrades all, work! Work, Jacques 
One, Jacques Two, Jacques One Thousand, Jacques Two 
Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twenty Thousand; in the 
name of all the angels or the devils — which you prefer — 
work! ” Thus Defarge of the wine shop, still at his gun, 
which had long grown hot. 

“ To me, women! ” cried madame his wife. “ What! We 
can kill as well as the men when the place is taken! ” And 
to her, with a shrill cry, trooping women variously armed, 
but all armed alike in hunger and revenge. 

Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but still the deep ditch, 
the single drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight 


204 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


great towers. Slight displacements of the raging sea, made 
by the falling wounded. Flashing weapons, blazing torches, 
smoking wagonloads of wet straw, hard work at neighboring 
barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, execrations, brav¬ 
ery without stint, boom, smash and rattle, and the furious 
sounding of the living sea; but still the deep ditch and the 
single drawbridge, and the massive stone walls, and the eight 
great towers, and still Defarge of the wine shop at his gun, 
grown doubly hot by the service of four fierce hours. 

A white flag from within the fortress and a parley 2 — this 
dimly perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible 
in it — suddenly the sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, 
and swept Defarge of the wine shop over the lowered draw¬ 
bridge, past the massive stone outer walls, in among the 
eight great towers surrendered! 

So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on 
that even to draw his breath or turn his head was as im¬ 
practicable as if he had been struggling in the surf at the 
South Sea, until he was landed in the outer courtyard of the 
Bastille. There, against an angle of a wall, he made a strug¬ 
gle to look about him. Jacques Three was nearly at his 
side. Madame Defarge, still heading some of her women, 
was visible in the inner distance, and her knife was in her 
hand. Everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening and 
maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet furious dumb 
show. 

“ The prisoners! ” 

“ The records! ” 

“ The secret cells! ” 

“ The instruments of torture! ” 

“ The prisoners! ” 

Of all these cries and ten thousand incoherences, “ The 

2 The Governor of the Bastille had surrendered, on promise of safety 
by the Revolutionists, but he was killed by the mobs. 




































206 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


prisoners! ” was the cry most taken up by the sea that 
rushed in, as if there were an eternity of people, as well 
as of time and of space. When the foremost billows rolled 
past, bearing the prison officers with them and threatening 
them all with instant death if any secret nook remained un¬ 
disclosed, Defarge laid his strong hand on the breast of one 
of these men — a man with a grey head, who had a lighted 
torch in his hand — separated him from the rest, and got him 
between himself and the wall. 

“ Show me the North Tower! ” said Defarge. “ Quick! ” 
“ I will faithfully,” replied the man, “ if you will come 
with me. But there is no one there.” 

“ What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North 
Tower?” asked Defarge. “Quick! ” 

“ The meaning, monsieur? ” 

“ Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity ? Or 
do you mean that I shall strike you dead? ” 

“Kill him!” croaked Jacques Three, who had come 
close up. 

“ Monsieur, it is a cell.” 

“ Show it me! ” 

“ Pass this way, then.” 

Jacques Three, with his usual craving for revengeful 
murder, and evidently disappointed by the dialogue taking 
a turn that did not seem to promise bloodshed, held by 
Defarge’s arm as he held by the turnkey’s. Their three 
heads had been close together during this brief discourse, 
and it had been as much as they could do to hear one 
another, even then so tremendous was the noise of the liv¬ 
ing ocean, in its irruption into the fortress and its inunda¬ 
tion of the courts and passages and staircases. All around 
outside, too, it beat the walls with a deep, hoarse roar, from 
which occasionally some partial shouts of tumult broke and 
leaped into the air like spray. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


207 


Through gloomy vaults where the light of day had 
never shone, past hideous doors of dark dens and cages, 
down cavernous flights of steps, and again up steep rugged 
ascents of stone and brick, more like dry waterfalls than 
staircases, Defarge, the turnkey, and Jacques Three, Jinked 
hand and arm, went with all the speed they could make. 
Here and there, especially at first, the inundation started on 
them and swept by; but when they had done descending, 
and were winding and climbing up a tower, they were 
alone. Hemmed in here by the massive thickness of walls 
and arches, the storm within the fortress and without was 
only audible to them in a dull, subdued way, as if the noise 
out of which they had come had almost destroyed their 
sense of hearing. 

The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clash¬ 
ing lock, swung the door slowly open, and said, as they all 
bent their heads and passed in: 

“ One Hundred and Five, North Tower! ” 

There was a small, heavily grated, unglazed window high 
in the wall, with a stone screen before it, so that the sky 
could be seen only by stooping low and looking up. There 
was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a few feet 
within. There was a heap of old wood ashes on the hearth, 
a stool, table, straw bed, four blackened walls, and a rusted 
iron ring in one of them. 

“ Pass that torch slowly along these walls that I may see 
them/ 7 said Defarge to the turnkey. 

The man obeyed, and Defarge followed the light closely 
with his eyes. 

“ Stop! — Look here, Jacques! 77 

“A. M.! 77 croaked Jacques Three, as he read greedily. 

“ Alexander Manette, 77 said Defarge in his ear, following 
the letters with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with 
gunpowder. “ And here he wrote ‘ a poor physician. 7 And 


208 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


it was he, without doubt, who scratched a calendar on this 
stone. What is that in your hand? A crowbar? Give it 
me! ” 

He had still the linstock of his cannon in his own hand. 
He m^de a sudden exchange of the two instruments, and 
turning on the worm-eaten stool and table, beat them to 
pieces in a few blows. 

“ Hold the light higher! ” he said wrathfully to the turn¬ 
key. “ Look among those fragments with care, Jacques. 
And see! Here is my knife,” throwing it to him; “rip 
open that bed, and search the straw. Hold the light higher, 
you! ” 

With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon 
the hearth, and peering up the chimney, struck and pried 
at its sides with the crowbar, and worked at the iron grating 
across it. In a few minutes, some mortar and dust came 
dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and 
in it, and in the old wood ashes, and in a crevice in the 
chimney into which his weapon had slipped or wrought 
itself, he groped with a cautious touch. 3 

“ Nothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, 
Jacques? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Let us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. 
So! Light them, you! ” 

The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and 
hot. Stooping again to come out at the low-arched door, 
they left it burning, and retraced their way to the courtyard, 
seeming to recover their sense of hearing as they came down, 
until they were in the raging flood once more. 

They found it surging and tossing in quest of Defarge 
himself. Saint Antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop 

3 Defarge found a manuscript written by Doctor Manette and 
hidden in this place, but he kept this a secret from every one except 
his wife. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


209 


keeper foremost in the guard upon the governor who had 
defended the Bastille and shot the people. Otherwise the 
governor would escape, and the people’s blood (suddenly 
of some value, after many years of worthlessness) be un¬ 
avenged. 

In the howling universe of passion and contention that 
seemed to encompass this grim old officer, conspicuous in 
his grey coat and red decoration, there was but one quite 
steady figure, and that was a woman’s. “ See, there is my 
husband! ” she cried, pointing him out. “See Defarge! ” 
She stood immovable close to the grim old officer, and re¬ 
mained immovable close to him through the streets, as 
Defarge and the rest bore him along; remained immovable 
close to him when he was near his destination, and began 
to be struck at from behind; remained immovable close 
to him when the long-gathering rain of stabs and blows fell 
heavy; was so close to him when he dropped dead under 
it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, 
and with her cruel knife — long ready — hewed off his 
head. 

The hour was come, when Saint Antoine was to execute 
the horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show 
what he could be and do. 

“ Lower the lamp yonder! ” cried Saint Antoine. “ Here 
is one of the governor’s soldiers to be left on guard! ” The 
swinging sentinel was posted and the sea rushed on. 

In the ocean of faces, with every fierce and furious ex¬ 
pression, there were two groups of faces — each seven in 
number — so contrasting with the rest that never did sea 
roll which bore more memorable wrecks with it. Seven 
faces of prisoners, suddenly released by the storm that 
had burst their tomb, were carried high overhead; all 
scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, as if the Last. 
Day were come, and those who rejoiced around them were 


210 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


lost spirits. Other seven faces there were, carried higher, 
faces of officers, seven dead faces, seven goar-y heads on 
pikes. 

Seven prisoners released, keys of the accursed fortress, 
of the eight strong towers, some discovered letters, and 
other memorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of 
broken hearts, — such, and such like, the loudly echoing 
footsteps of Saint Antoine escort through the Paris streets 
in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine. 
Now, heaven defeat the fancy of Lucie Manette, and keep 
these feet far out of her life! For they are headlong, mad, 
and dangerous; not easily purified when once stained red. 


CHAPTER XVII 

ONE WEEK LATER. THE SEA STILL RISES 

M ADAME DEFARGE sat at her counter presiding over 
the customers. She wore no rose in her hair now, for 
government spies had become, even in one short week, afraid 
to trust themselves in the Saint Antoine suburb of Paris. 
The lamps across the street had a dangerous, elastic swing 
to them. One of Madame Defarge’s friends knitted beside 
her, the short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and 
the mother of two children. This woman, very active with 
Madame Defarge, had already earned the name of The 
Vengeance. She was the custodian of the drum which 
she would beat to arouse the women when going on their 
fierce raids. 

“Hark!” said The Vengeance. “Listen, then! Who 
comes ? ” 

A fast spreading murmur came rushing along. 

“ It is Defarge,” said madame. “ Silence, patriots! ” 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 211 

Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore 
and looked around him! 

“Listen, everywhere! ” said madame again. “Listen to 
him! Say then, my husband, what is it ? ” 

“News from the other world! ” 

“How, then?” cried madame contemptuously. “The 
other world ? ” 

“ Does everybody here recall old Foulon, 1 who told the 
starving people that they might eat grass, and who died 
and went to hell ? ” 

“Everybody! ” from all throats. 

“ The news is of him. He is among us! ” 

“Among us! ” from the universal throat again. “And 
not dead? ” 

“Not dead! He feared us so much — and with reason 
— that he caused himself to be represented as dead, and 
had a grand mock funeral. But they have found him 
alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. 
I have seen him but now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, 
a prisoner. I have said that he had reason to fear us. Say 
all! Had he reason?” 

Wretched old sinner of more than three score years and 
ten, if he had never known it yet, he would have known it if 
he could have heard the answering cry. 

A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and 
his wife looked steadfastly at one another. The Venge¬ 
ance, custodian of the drum, stooped, and the jar of a 
drum was heard, as she moved it at her feet behind the 
counter. 

“ Patriots! ” said Defarge, in a determined voice, “ are 
we ready ? ” 

Instantly Madame Defarge’s knife was in her girdle; 

1 His posit on had been that of Comptroller-General of Finance. 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


212 

the drum was beating in the streets, and The Vengeance, 
uttering terrific shrieks and flinging her arms about her 
head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from 
house to house, rousing the women. 

The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with 
which they looked from windows, caught up what weapons 
they had, and came pouring down into the streets. But 
the women were a sight to chill the boldest. They ran out 
with streaming hair urging one another and themselves to 
madness with the wildest cries and actions. “ Villain Foulon 
taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! Mis¬ 
creant Foulon taken, my daughter! ” Then a score of 
others ran into the midst of these, beating their breasts, 
tearing their hair, and screaming, “Foulon alive! Foulon, 
who told my old father he might eat grass, when I had no 
bread to give him! Foulon, who told my baby it might 
eat grass! 0 Mother of God, this Foulon! 0 Heaven, our 
suffering! Hear me, my dead baby and my withered father; 
I swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on 
Foulon! Husbands and brothers and young men, give us 
the head of Foulon! Give us the heart of Foulon! Give 
us the body and soul of Foulon! Rend Foulon to pieces, 
and dig him into the ground that grass may grow from 
him! ” 

With these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind 
frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own 
friends until they dropped into a passionate swoon and 
were only saved by the men belonging to them from being 
trampled under foot. 

Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! 
This Foulon was at the Hotel de Ville, and might be loosed. 
Never, if Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and 
wrongs! Armed men and women flocked out of the quarter 
so fast that within a quarter of an hour there was not a 





The Hotel de Ville 


































214 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


human creature in Saint Antoine but a few old women and 
wailing children. 

No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of 
Examination (where this old man, ugly and wicked, was) 
and overflowing into the streets. The Defarges, husband 
and wife, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three were in the 
first press, and at no great distance from him in the hall. 

“See!” cried madame, pointing with her knife. “See 
the old villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie 
a bunch of grass upon his back. Ha, ha! That was well 
done. Let him eat it now! ” Madame put her knife under 
her arm and clapped her hands as at a play. 

The people behind madame, explaining the cause of her 
applause behind them, and those again explaining to others, 
and those to others, the hall and even the streets resounded 
to the clapping of hands. 

The trial was taking two or three hours. Madame De- 
farge’s expressions of impatience were taken up with mar¬ 
velous quickness at a distance. Certain men who had 
climbed up to look in from the windows knew Madame 
Defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her and the 
crowd outside. 

At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly 
ray as of hope or protection directly down upon the old 
prisoner’s head. The favor was too much to bear; in an 
instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stood surpris¬ 
ingly long went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got 
him. 

It was known directly, to the farthest confines of the 
crowd. Defarge sprang over a railing and a table and 
folded the miserable wretch in a deadly embrace — Madame 
Defarge had followed and turned her hand in one of the 
ropes with which he was tied — The Vengeance and Jacques 
Three were not yet up with them, and the men at the 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


215 


windows had not yet swooped into the hall, when the cry 
seemed to go up all over the city: 

“ Bring him out! Bring him to the lamp! ” He was 
pulled and dragged violently to this place. 

Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the 
building; now on his knees; now on his feet; now on his 
back; dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches 
of grass and straw that were thrust into his face by the 
hundreds of hands; bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always 
entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of agony of 
action, with a small clear space about him, as the people 
drew one another back that they might see him; now a log 
of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs; he was hauled 
to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal lamps 
swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go — as a cat 
might have done to a mouse — and silently and composedly 
looked at him while they made him ready and while he 
besought her; the women screeching at him all the time 
and the men sternly calling out to have him killed with 
grass in his mouth. Once he went aloft and the rope broke, 
and they caught him shrieking. Twice he went aloft, and 
the rope broke and they caught him shrieking. Then the 
rope was merciful and held him, and his head was soon upon 
a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all Saint Antoine 
to dance at the sight of. 2 

Nor was this the end of the day’s bad work, for Saint 
Antoine so shouted and danced his angry blood up that it 
boiled again on hearing, when the day closed in, that the son- 
in-law 3 of Foulon, another of the people’s enemies, was com¬ 
ing into Paris under a guard five hundred strong in cavalry 

2 Lafayette had been with Foulon during his capture and death. 
His pleading with the mob against this murder was at first successful, 
but only postponed it for a short time. 

3 Bertnier de Sauvigny, Intendant (superintendent or manager) of 
Paris. 


216 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

alone. Saint Antoine seized him — would have torn him 
out of the breast of an army to bear Foulon company — 
set his head and heart on pikes and carried the three spoils 
of the day through the streets. 

It was almost morning when Defarge’s wine shop parted 
with its last knot of customers, and monsieur said to madame 
his wife, in husky tones, while fastening the door: 

“ At last it is come, my dear! ” 

“ Eh well! Almost.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 
FIRE RISES 

T HERE was a change on the village where the fountain 
fell, and where the mender of roads went forth daily 
to hammer out of the stones on the highway such morsels 
of bread as might serve to hold his poor ignorant soul and 
his poor reduced body together. The prison on the crag 
was not so dominant as of yore. There were soldiers to 
guard it, but not many. There were officers to guard the 
soldiers, but not one of them knew what his men would 
do —beyond this: that it would probably not be what he 
was ordered. 

Far and wide lay a ruined country, yielding nothing but 
desolation. Every green leaf, every blade of grass and blade 
of grain, was as shriveled and poor as the miserable people. 
Everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed, and 
broken. Habitations, fences, domesticated animals, men, 
women, children, and the soil that bore them — all worn 
out. The nobles of France had reduced their country to 
this condition. Monseigneur gave a chivalrous tone to 
things and was a polite example of luxurious and shining 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


217 


life; he was often a most worthy individual gentleman; 
nevertheless, Monseigneur, as a class, had brought things to 
this. Strange that Creation, designed expressly for Mon¬ 
seigneur, should be so soon wrung dry and squeezed out! 
There must be something short-sighted in the eternal ar¬ 
rangements, surely. Thus it was however; and the last 
drop of blood having been extracted from the flints, and 
the last screw of the rack having been turned so often that 
its purchase crumbled, and it now turned and turned with 
nothing to bite, Monseigneur began to run away from a 
phenomenon so low and unaccountable. 

But, this was not the change on the village, and on many 
a village like it. For scores of years gone by, Monseigneur 
had squeezed it and wrung it, and had seldom graced it 
with his presence except for the pleasures of the chase — 
now found in hunting the people, now found in hunting 
the beasts, for whose preservation Monseigneur made edify¬ 
ing spaces of barbarous and barren wilderness. No. The 
change consisted in the appearance of strange faces of low 
caste, rather than in the disappearance of the high caste, 
chiseled, and otherwise beatified and beatifying features of 
Monseigneur. 

For in these times, as the mender of roads worked solitary 
in the dust not often troubling himself to reflect that dust 
he was and to dust he must return, being for the most part 
too much occupied in thinking how little he had for supper 
and how much more he would eat if he had it — in these 
times as he raised his eyes from his lonely labor and viewed 
the prospect, he would see some rough figure approaching on 
foot, the like of which was once a rarity in those parts but 
was now a frequent presence. As it advanced, the mender 
of roads would discern without surprise that it was a 
shaggy-haired man, of almost barbarian aspect, tall, in 
wooden shoes that were clumsy even to the eyes of a mender 


218 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


of roads, grim, rough, swart, steeped in the mud and dust 
of many highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many 
low grounds, sprinkled with the thorns and leaves of many 
byways through woods. 

Such a man came upon him like a ghost, at noon in the 
July weather, as he sat on his heap of stones under a bank, 
taking such shelter as he could get from a shower of hail. 

The man looked at him, looked at the village in the 
hollow, at the mill, and at the prison on the crag. When 
he had identified these objects in what benighted mind he 
had, he said in a dialect that was just intelligible: 

“ How goes it, Jacques ? ” 

“ All well, Jacques.” 

“ Touch, then! ” 

They joined hands, and the man sat down on the heap 
of stones. 

“No dinner?” 

“ Nothing but supper now,” said the mender of roads 
with a hungry face. 

“ It is the fashion,” growled the man. “ I meet no 
dinner anywhere.” 

He took out a blackened pipe, filled it, lighted it with 
flint and steel, pulled at it until it was in a bright glow; 
then suddenly held it from him and dropped something 
into it from between his finger and thumb, that blazed and 
went out in a puff of smoke. 

“ Touch, then,” said the mender of roads, after observing 
these operations. They again joined hands. 

“ Tonight? ” said the mender of roads. 

“ Tonight,” said the man putting the pipe in his mouth. 

“Where?” 

“ Here.” 

He and the mender of roads sat on the heap of stones 
looking at one another, with the hail driving in between 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 219 

them like a pigmy charge of bayonets, until the sky 
began to clear over the village. 

“ Show me! ” said the traveler then, moving to the brow 
of the hill. 

“ See! ” returned the mender of roads, with extended 
finger. “ You go down here, and straight through the 
street, and past the fountain — ” 

“To the devil with all that! ” interrupted the other, roll¬ 
ing his eye over the landscape. “ I go through no streets and 
past no fountains. Well? ” 

“Well! About two leagues beyond the su mm it, of that 
hill above the village.” 

“ Good. When do you stop working ? ” 

“At sunset.” 

“ Will you wake me before you leave ? I have walked 
two nights without resting. Let me finish my pipe, and I 
shall sleep like a child. Will you wake me? ” 

“ Surely.” 

The wayfarer smoked his pipe out, put it in his breast, 
slipped off his great shoes, and lay down on his back on the 
heap of stones. He was fast asleep directly. 

As the road mender plied his dusty labor, and the clouds, 
rolling away, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky, the 
little man (who wore a red cap now in place of the blue 
one) seemed fascinated by the figure on the heap of stones. 
The bronze face, the shaggy black hair and beard, the 
coarse woolen red cap, the rough clothes of homespun 
stuff and hairy skins of beasts, the powerful frame, and 
the sullen and desperate compression of the lips in sleep 
inspired the mender of roads with awe. The traveler had 
traveled far, and his feet were footsore, and his ankles 
chafed and bleeding. His great shoes, stuffed with leaves 
and grass, had been heavy to drag over many long leagues, 
and his clothes were chafed into holes, as he himself was 


220 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


into sores. Stooping down beside him, the road mender 
tried to get a peep at secret weapons in his breast or where 
not; but in vain, for he slept with his arms crossed upon 
him, and set as resolutely as his lips. 

The man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and in¬ 
tervals of brightness; to sunshine on his face and shadow; 
to the pattering lumps of dull ice on his body and the 
diamonds into which the sun changed them, until the sun 
was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. Then the 
mender of roads, having got his tools together and all 
things ready to go down into the village, roused him. 

“Good! ” said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. “Two 
leagues beyond the summit of the hill ? ” 

“ About.” 

“ About. Good! ” 

The mender of roads went home, with the dust going 
on before him and was soon at the fountain, squeezing 
himself in among the lean kine brought there to drink and 
appearing even to whisper to them in his whispering to all 
the village. When the village had taken its poor supper, 
it did not creep to bed as it usually did, but came out of 
doors again and remained there looking expectantly at the 
sky in one direction only. 

Monsieur Gabelle, chief official of the place, became un¬ 
easy; went out on his housetop alone, and looked in that 
direction too; glanced down at the darkening faces by the 
fountain below, and sent word to the sexton who kept 
the keys of the church that there might be need to ring the 
alarm bell by and by. 

The night deepened. The trees surrounding the old 
chateau moved in a rising wind. Up the two terrace flights 
of steps the rain ran wildly and beat at the great door, 
like a swift messenger rousing those within. East, west, 
north, and south, through the woods, four heavy-treading, 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


221 


unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the 
branches, striding on cautiously to come together in the 
courtyard. Four lights broke out there, and moved away 
in different directions, and all was black again. 

But not for long. Presently the chateau began to make 
itself visible by some light of its own, as though it were 
growing luminous. Then a flickering streak played behind 
the architecture of the front, showing balustrades, arches, 
and windows. Then it soared higher and grew broader and 
brighter. Soon, from a score of windows, flames burst forth, 
and the stone faces on the building stared out of the fire. 

A faint murmur arose about the house from the few peo¬ 
ple who were left there, and there was a saddling of a horse 
and riding away. There was spurring and splashing through 
the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the space by the 
village fountain. The horse, in a foam, stood at Monsieur 
Gabelle’s door. “Help, Gabelle! Help, every one — ” 

The alarm bell rang impatiently, but there was no help. 
The mender of roads and two hundred and fifty particular 
friends stood with folded arms at the fountain, looking 
at the pillar of fire in the sky. 

“ It must be forty feet high,” they said grimly, and never 
moved. 

The rider from the chateau and the horse in a foam 
clattered away through the village and galloped up the 
stony steep to the prison on the crag. At the gate a group 
of officers were looking at the fire; removed from them 
was a group of soldiers. 

“ Help, gentlemen-ofAcers! The chateau is on fire! Val¬ 
uable objects may be saved from the flames by timely aid! 
Help! Help! ” 

The officers looked towards the soldiers, who looked at the 
fire; gave no orders, and answered with shrugs, It must 
burn.” 


222 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


The chateau burned. The nearest trees scorched and 
shriveled. Trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce fig¬ 
ures, begirt the blazing edifice with a new forest of smoke. 
Molten lead and iron boiled in the marble basin of the foun¬ 
tain. The extinguisher tops of the towers vanished like ice 
before the heat, and trickled down into four rugged wells of 
flame. Great rents and splits branched out in the solid 
walls. Stupefied birds wheeled about and dropped into the 
furnace. Four fierce figures trudged away, east, west, north 
and south, along the night-enshrouded roads guided by the 
beacon they had lighted, towards their next destination. 

The illuminated village seized hold of the alarm bell and, 
abolishing the lawful ringer, rang it for joy. 

The mender of roads and his two hundred and fifty par¬ 
ticular friends, inspired by the idea of lighting up, darted 
into their houses and put candles in every little pane of 
glass. The general scarcity of everything made it necessary 
for candles to be borrowed in a rather imperative manner of 
Monsieur Gabelle; and in a moment of reluctance and hesi¬ 
tation on that official’s part, the mender of roads, once so 
submissive to authority, remarked that carriages were good 
to make bonfires with, and post-horses would roast. 

Then the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell- 
ringing, remembering that Monsieur Gabelle had to do with 
the collection of rent and taxes — though it was but a 
small installment of taxes and no rent at all that Gabelle 
had got in those days, according to the orders of Charles 
Darnay, — became impatient for an interview with him and, 
surrounding his house, summoned him to come forth for 
personal conference. But Monsieur Gabelle heavily barred 
his door, went up on the roof of his house and hid behind 
some chimneys, resolved, if his door were broken in, to pitch 
himself headforemost over the parapet and crush a man or 
two below. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


223 


Probably Monsieur Gabelle passed a long night up there, 
with the distant- chateau for fire and candle and the beating 
at his door, combined with the joy-ringing, for music; not 
to mention his having an ill-omened lamp slung across the 
road before his gate, which the people took down in order 
to hang him in its place. But the friendly dawn appearing 
at last, and the candles of the village guttering out, the peo¬ 
ple dispersed, and Monsieur Gabelle came down, bringing 
his life with him for that while. 

Within a hundred miles and in the light of other fires, 
there were other officials less fortunate that night and other 
nights, whom the rising sun found hanging across once 
peaceful streets where they had been born and bred. Also, 
there were other villagers and townspeople less fortunate 
than the mender of roads and his fellows, upon whom the 
officials and soldiers turned with success and whom they 
strung up in their turn. But the fierce figures were steadily 
wending east, west, north, south; and wherever they went, 
fire burned. 


CHAPTER XIX 

DRAWN TO THE LOADSTONE ROCK 

I N SUCH risings of fire and risings of sea, three years of 
tempest were consumed. Three more birthdays of little 
Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peace¬ 
ful tissue of the life of her home. 

Monseigneur, as a class, was like the fabled rustic who 
raised the devil with infinite pains, to ask him some ques¬ 
tions, and then, when he appeared, was so terrified at the 
sight of him that he could ask this enemy no question, but 
immediately fled. So Monseigneur, after boldly reading the 
Lord’s Prayer backwards for a great many years and per- 


224 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


forming many other potent spells for compelling the evil 
one to appear, no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he 
took to his noble heels. 

The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and 
ninety-two was come, and the nobles of France were by this 
time scattered far and wide. Many were in London, and 
their headquarters and gathering place was at Tellson’s 
Bank. Every newcomer from France reported himself and 
his tidings at Tellson’s as a matter of course. 

On a steaming misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, 
and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in 
a low voice. It was within half an hour or so of the time of 
closing. 

“ But although you are the youngest man that ever 
lived,” said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, " I must still 
suggest to you — ” 

“ I understand. That I am too old? ” 

“ Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of 
traveling, a disorganized country, a city that may not be 
safe even for you.” 

“ My dear Charles, you touch some of the reasons for my 
going, not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me. 
Nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow nearly four¬ 
score, when there are so many people there much better in¬ 
terfering with. As to its being a disorganized city, if it 
were not a disorganized city, there would be no occasion to 
send somebody from our house here to our house there, who 
knows the city and'the business of old and is in Tellson’s 
confidence. As to the uncertain traveling, the long journey, 
and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit 
myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson’s 
after all these years, who ought to be ? ” 

“ I wish I were going myself,” said Charles Darnay, some¬ 
what restlessly, and like one thinking aloud. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


225 


“ Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise! 
You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman 
born? You are a wise counsellor.” 

“My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman 
born that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, 
however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot 
help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable 
people and having abandoned something to them,” he spoke 
here in his former thoughtful manner, “ that one might be 
listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some 
restraint. Only last night, after you had left us, when I 
was talking to Lucie — ” 

“ When you were talking to Lucie,” Mr. Lorry repeated. 
“ Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name 
of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time 
of day! ” 

“ However, I am not going,” said Charles Darnay, 
with a smile. “ It is more to the purpose that you say 
you are.” 

“And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear 
Charles,” here Mr. Lorry lowered his voice, “ you can have 
no idea of the difficulty with which our business is trans¬ 
acted and of the danger in which our books and papers 
over yonder are involved. The Lord above knows what the 
consequences would be to numbers of our people if some of 
our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be 
at any time, you know; for who can say that Paris is not 
set afire today, or sacked tomorrow! Now, a judicious se¬ 
lection from these with the least possible delay and the 
burying of them, or otherwise getting them out of harm’s 
way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of 
scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I hang 
back, when Tellson’s knows this and says this — Tellson’s, 
whose bread I have eaten these sixty years — because I am 


226 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half 
a dozen old codgers here! ” 

“ How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. 
Lorry! ” 

“ Tut! Nonsense, sir! — And, my dear Charles, you are 
to remember that getting things out of Paris at this present 
time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. 
Papers and precious documents were this very day brought 
to us here (I speak in strict confidence; it is not businesslike 
to whisper it, even to you), by the strangest bearers you can 
imagine, every one of whom had his head hanging on by a 
single hair as he passed the barriers. At another time, our 
parcels would come and go as easily as in businesslike Old 
England; but now, everything is stopped.” 

“ And do you really go tonight ? ” 

“ I really go tonight, for the case has become too pressing 
to admit of delay.” 

“ And do you take no one with you ? ” 

“ All sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will 
have nothing to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. 
Jerry has been my bodyguard on Sunday nights for a long 
time. Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an 
English bulldog, or of having any design in his head but to 
fly at anybody who touches his master.” 

“ I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry 
and youthfulness.” 

“I must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have 
executed this little commission, I shall, perhaps, accept 
Tellson’s proposal to retire and live at my ease. Time 
enough then to think about growing old.” 

This dialogue had taken place at Mr. Lorry’s usual desk, 
with many French nobles swarming within a yard of two of 
it, boastful of what they would do to avenge themselves on 
the rascal people before long. Among the talkers was 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


227 


Stryver, taking the part of the nobles and broaching to 
them his device for blowing the people up and exterminat¬ 
ing them from the face of the earth and for accomplishing 
many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of 
eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. 

The manager of the bank approached Mr. Lorry and, 
laying a soiled and unopened letter before him, asked if he 
had yet discovered any traces of the person to whom it was 
addressed. The letter was so close to Darnay that he saw 
the name — the more quickly because it was his own right 
name. The address, turned into English, ran: 

“ Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis 
St. Evremonde, of France. Confided to the care of Messrs. 
Tellson and Co., Bankers, London, England.” 

On the marriage morning, Dr. Manette had made it his 
one urgent request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of his 
name should be kept between them. No one else knew 
his real name. His own wife had no suspicion of the fact. 
Mr. Lorry could have none. 

“ No,” said Mr. Lorry. “ I have referred it, I think, to 
everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this 
gentleman is to be found.” 

The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing 
the bank, there was a general set of the current of talkers 
past Mr. Lorry’s desk. He held the letter out inquiringly, 
and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of this plotting 
and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked at it in the 
person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, 
That, and The Other, all had something disparaging to say, 
in French or in English, concerning the Marquis who was 
not to be found. 

“ Nephew, I believe — but in any case degenerate succes¬ 
sor— of the polished Marquis who was murdered,” said 
one. “ Happy to say, I never knew him.” 


228 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ A craven who abandoned his post some years ago,” said 
another — (this Monseigneur had been got out of Paris, legs 
uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay). 

“ Infected with the new doctrines,” said a third, eyeing 
the address through his glass in passing; “ set himself in 
opposition to the last Marquis, abandoned the estates when 
he inherited them, and left them to the ruffianly herd. 
They will recompense him now, I hope, as he deserves.” 

“ Hey? ” cried the blatant Stryver. “ Did he though? Is 
that the sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. 
Darn the fellow.” 

Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched 
Mr. Stryver on the shoulder and said: 

“ I know the fellow.” 

“ Do you, by Jupiter? I am sorry for it.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Why, Mr. Darnay? D’ye hear what he did? Don’t 
ask why in these times.” 

“ But I do ask why.” 

“ Then I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. 
Here is a fellow who abandoned his property to the vilest 
scum of the earth that ever did murder by wholesale, and 
you ask me why I am sorry that a man who instructs youth 
knows him? Well, I’ll answer you. I am sorry because I 
believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. That’s 
why.” 

Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty 
checked himself, and said: “You may not understand the 
gentleman.” 

“ I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr, Darnay, 
and I’ll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I don’t under¬ 
stand him. You may tell him so with my compliments. 
You may also tell him, from me, that after abandoning his 
worldly goods and position to this butcherly mob, I wonder 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


229 


he is not at the head of them. But no, gentlemen,” said 
Stryver, looking all round him, and snapping his fingers, 
“ I know something of human nature, and I tell you that 
you’ll never find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to 
the mercies of such precious proteges. No, gentlemen; he’ll 
always show ’em a clean pair of heels very early in the 
scuffle, and sneak away.” 

With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. 
Stryver shouldered himself into Fleet Street, amidst the 
general approbation of his hearers. Mr. Lorry and Charles 
Darnay were left alone at the desk, in the general departure 
from the bank. 

“Will you take charge of the letter?” said Mr. Lorry. 
“You know where to deliver it?” 

“ I do.” 

“ Will you explain that we suppose it to have been ad¬ 
dressed here on the chance of our knowing where to forward 
it and that it has been here for some time ? ” 

“ I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here? ” 

“ From here, at eight.” 

“ I will come back to see you off.” 

Very ill at ease with himself and with Stryver, and most 
other men, Darnay made his way into the quiet of the Tem¬ 
ple, opened the letter and read it. These were its contents: 

Prison of the Abbaye, Paris. 

June 21, 1792. 

MONSIEUR HERETOFORE THE MARQUIS I 

After having long been in danger of my life at the hands 
of the village, I have been seized, with great violence and in¬ 
dignity, and brought a long journey on foot to Paris. On the 
road I have suffered a great deal. Nor is that all; my house 
has been destroyed — razed to the ground. 

The crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore 
the Marquis, and for which I shall be summoned before the 
tribunal and shall lose my life (without your so generous 


230 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


help), is, they tell me, treason against the majesty of the 
people, in that I have acted against them for an emigrant. 
It is in vain I represent that I have acted for them, and not 
against, according to your commands. It is in vain I represent 
that I had collected no rent, had collected no taxes, had taken 
nothing from them nor disturbed them since long before the 
people had any power. The only response is that I have acted 
for an emigrant, and where is that emigrant? ” 

Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where 
is that emigrant? I cry in my sleep, where is he? I demand of 
Heaven, will he not come to deliver me? No answer. Ah! 
Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I send my desolate cry 
across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through 
the great Bank of Tilson known at Paris! 

For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the 
honor of your noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur hereto¬ 
fore the Marquis, to help and release me. My fault is, that 
I have been true to you. Oh, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, 
I pray you be you true to me! 

From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend 
nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur here¬ 
tofore the Marquis, the assurance of my sorrowful and unhappy 
service. 


Your afflicted, 


Gabelle. 


The latent uneasiness in Darnay’s mind was roused to 
vigorous life by this letter. The peril of an old servant and 
a good one, whose only crime was fidelity to himself and 
his family, stared him reproachfully in the face. —His 
resolution was made. He must go to Paris. Yes, the Load¬ 
stone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he 
struck. He knew of no rock. He saw hardly any danger. 
That glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the 
mirage of good minds, arose before him. He even saw him¬ 
self, in the illusion, with some influence to guide this raging 
Revolution that was running so fearfully wild. He thought 
the people might be influenced by him, because he had al¬ 
ways tried to help them. 


THE GOLDEN THREAD 


231 


As he walked to and fro, with his resolution made, he 
decided that neither Lucie nor her father must know of it 
until he was gone. Lucie should be spared the pain of any 
farewell, though it would only be for a short time. Her 
father should come to the knowledge of his absence without 
any conversation which might arouse old associations of 
France. He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, 
until it was time to return to Tellson’s Bank and take leave 
of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris, he would 
present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing 
of his intention now. 

A carriage with post-horses was ready at the bank door, 
and Jerry was booted and equipped. 

“ I have delivered that letter,” said Charles Darnay to 
Mr. Lorry. “ I would not consent to your being charged 
with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal 
one?” 

“ That I will, and readily, if it is not dangerous.” 

“ Not at all, though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.” 

“What is his name?” said Mr. Lorry, with his open 
pocketbook in his hand. 

“ Gabelle.” 

“ Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate 
Gabelle?” N 

“Simply, that 'he has received the letter, and will 
come? ” 

“ Any time mentioned ? ” 

“ He will start upon his journey tomorrow night.” 

“ Any person mentioned ? ” 

“ No.” 

He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of 
coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm at¬ 
mosphere of the old bank into the misty air of Fleet Street. 

“ My love to Lucie and to little Lucie,” said Mr. Lorry, 


232 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

at parting, “ and take precious care of them till I come 
back.” 

Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled as 
the carriage rolled away. That night (it was the fourteenth 
of August) he sat up late and wrote two fervent letters; one 
was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he was under 
to go to Paris and showing her the reasons he had for feel¬ 
ing confident that he could become involved in no personal 
danger there; the other was to Doctor Manette, confiding 
Lucie and their dear child to his care. To both he w T rote 
that he would send letters in proof of his safety immediately 
after his arrival. 

It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with 
the first reservation of their joint lives on his mind. But an 
affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made 
him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had been 
half moved, to do it, so strange it was to him to act in 
anything without her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly 
away. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her 
scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that an engagement 
took him out. He had secreted a valise of clothes ready; 
and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets, 
with a heavier heart. 

The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself now, and 
all the tides and winds were setting straight and strong to¬ 
wards it. He left his two letters with a trusty porter, to be 
delivered half an hour before midnight, took horse for 
Dover, and began his journey. “ For the love of Heaven, of 
justice, of generosity, of the honor of your noble name! ” 
was the poor prisoner’s cry with which he strengthened his 
sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind 
him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock. 


BOOK III. THE TRACK OF 
A STORM 

Time: August, 1792 — December, 1793. 

Place: Paris. 

CHAPTER I 
IN SECRET 

T HE traveler fared slowly on his way who went towards 
Paris from England in the autumn of the year one 
thousand seven hundred and ninety-two. Every town gate 
and village taxing house had its band of citizen patriots, 
with their national muskets in a most explosive state of 
readiness, who stopped all comers and goers, cross-ques¬ 
tioned them, inspected their papers, looked for their names 
in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, 
or stopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious 
judgment or fancy deemed best for the dawning Republic 
One and Indivisible, of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or 
Death. 

A very few French leagues of his journey were accom¬ 
plished when Charles Darnay began to perceive that for 
him along these country roads there was no hope of return, 
until he should have been declared a good citizen at Paris. 
Whatever might befall now, he must on to his journey’s end. 
Not a mean village closed upon him, not a common barrier 
dropped across the road behind him, but he knew it to be 
another iron door in the series that was barred between him 
and England. This universal watchfulness so encompassed 

233 


234 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


him that, if he had been taken in a net or were being for¬ 
warded to his destination in a cage, he could not have felt 
his freedom more completely gone. 

This universal watchfulness not only stopped him on the 
highway twenty times in a stage but retarded his progress 
twenty times in a day, by riding after him and taking him 
back, riding before him and stopping him, riding with him 
and keeping him in charge. He had been days upon his 
journey in France alone when he went to bed tired out, 
in a little town on the high road, still a long way from 
Paris. 

Nothing but the production of the afflicted Gabelle’s 
letter from his prison of the Abbaye would have got him on 
so far. His difficulty at the guardhouse in this small place 
had been such that he felt his journey to have come to a 
crisis. He was not surprised, therefore, to find himself 
awakened at the small inn to which he had been remitted 
until morning in the middle of the night. 

He was awakened by a timid local official and three armed 
patriots in rough red caps and with pipes in their mouths, 
who sat down on the bed. 

“ Emigrant,” said the local official, “ I am going to send 
you on to Paris, under an escort.” 

“ Citizen, I desire nothing more than to get to Paris, 
though I could dispense with the escort.” 

“ Silence! ” growled a red-cap, striking at the coverlet 
with the butt-end of his musket. “Peace, aristocrat! ” 

“ It is as the good patriot says,” observed the timid local 
official. “You are an aristocrat, and must have an escort 
— and must pay for it.” 

“ I have no choice,” said Charles Darnay. 

“ Choice! Listen to him! ” cried the same scowling red¬ 
cap. “ As if it was not a favor to be protected from the 
lamp-iron! ” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 235 

“ It is always as the good patriot says,” observed the local 
official. “ Rise and dress yourself, emigrant.” 

Darnay complied and was taken back to the guardhouse, 
where other patriots in rough red caps were smoking, drink¬ 
ing, and sleeping by a watch fire. Here he paid a heavy 
price for his escort and started with it on the wet, wet roads 
at three o’clock in the morning. 

The escort were two mounted patriots in red caps armed 
with muskets and sabers, who rode one on either side of 
him. He governed his own horse, but a loose line was at¬ 
tached to his bridle, the end of which was around the wrist 
of one of the patriots. In this state they set forth with the 
sharp rain driving in their faces, clattering over the uneven 
pavement and out upon the mire-deep roads. In this state 
they traversed without change, except of horses and pace, 
all the mire-deep leagues that lay between them and the 
capital. They traveled in the night, stopping an hour or 
two after daybreak and lying by until the twilight fell. The 
escort were so wretchedly clothed that they twisted straw 
round their bare legs and thatched their ragged shoulders 
to keep the wet off. Apart from the personal discomfort of 
being so attended, and apart from such considerations of 
present danger as arose from one of the patriots being 
chronically drunk, and carrying his musket recklessly, 
Charles Darnay did not have any serious fears. He rea¬ 
soned with himself that as soon as the people knew who he 
was and how he had always been devoted to their cause, 
they would declare him a good citizen and he would be free. 
All this would surely happen as soon as he reached Paris 
and saw Gabelle. 

But when they came to the town of Beauvais forty miles 
north of Paris — which they did at eventide when the 
streets were filled with people — he could not conceal from 
himself that the aspect of affairs was very alarming. An 


236 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


ominous crowd gathered to see him dismount at the posting- 
gate, and many voices called out loudly: 

“ Down with the emigrant! ” 1 

He stopped in the act of swinging himself out of his sad¬ 
dle and, resuming it as his safest place, said: 

“Emigrant, my friends! Do you not see me here in 
France of my own will? ” 

“ You are a cursed emigrant/’ cried a blacksmith, making 
at him in a furious manner through the crowd, hammer in 
hand; “ and you are a cursed aristocrat! ” 

The postmaster interposed himself between this man and 
the rider’s bridle (at which he was evidently making), and 
said soothingly: 

“ Let him be! He will be judged at Paris.” 

“Judged! ” repeated the blacksmith, swinging his ham¬ 
mer. “ Ay! and condemned as a traitor.” At this the crowd 
roared approval. 

Checking the postmaster, who was for turning his horse’s 
head to the yard, Darnay said, as soon as he could make his 
voice heard: 

“ Friends, you deceive yourselves, or you are deceived. I 
am not a traitor.” 

“He lies! ” cried the smith. “He is a traitor since the 
decree. His life is not his own. His life is forfeit to the 
people. His cursed life is not his own.” 

At that instant when Darnay saw a rush in the eyes of the 
crowd, which another instant would have brought upon him, 
the postmaster turned his horse into the yard, the escort 
rode in close to him, and the postmaster shut and barred 
the double gates. The blacksmith struck a blow upon them 
with his hammer, and the crowd groaned; but no more was 
done. 

1 All emigrants were condemned to perpetual banishment, loss of 
all property and civil rights, and death if they returned. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


237 


“What is this decree that the smith spoke of?” asked 
Darnay of the postmaster, when he had thanked him, and 
stood beside him in the yard. 

“ Truly a decree for selling the property of emigrants and 
condemning all to death in twenty-four hours who return. 
That is what he meant when he said your life was not your 
own.” 

“ But there are no such decrees yet ? ” 

“ What do I know! ” said the postmaster, shrugging his 
shoulders. “ There may be, or there will be. It is all the 
same. What would you have? ” 

They rested on some straw in a loft until the middle of 
the night, and rode forward again when all the town was 
asleep. Among the many wild changes observable on fa¬ 
miliar things which made this wild ride unreal was the 
rarity of sleep. After long and lonely spurring over dreary 
roads, they would come to a cluster of poor cottages, not 
steeped in darkness, but all glittering with lights, and 
would find the people, in a ghostly manner in the dead of 
the night, circling hand in hand round a shriveled tree of 
Liberty, or all drawn up together singing a Liberty song. 
Happily, however, there was sleep in Beauvais that night to 
help them out of it, and they passed on once more into soli¬ 
tude and loneliness, jingling through the cold and wet, 
among impoverished fields that had yielded no fruits of the 
earth that year, diversified by the blackened remains of 
burnt houses, and by the sudden appearance, from ambus¬ 
cade, of patriot patrols on the watch on all the roads, sharp 
reining up across their way. 

Daylight at last found them before the wall of Paris. The 
barrier was closed and strongly guarded when they rode up 
to it. A guard called out the man who had charge of this 
barrier, Ernest Defarge, a resolute-looking man in authority, 
who demanded: 


238 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Where are the papers of this prisoner ? ” 

Naturally struck by the disagreeable word, Charles Dar- 
nay requested the speaker to take notice that he was a free 
traveler and French citizen, in charge of an escort which 
the disturbed state of the country had imposed upon him 
and which he had paid for. 

“ Where,” repeated the same personage, without taking 
any heed of him whatever, “ are the papers of this pris¬ 
oner? ” 

The drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced 
them. Casting his eyes over Gabelle’s letter, the same per¬ 
son in authority showed some disorder and surprise, and 
looked at Darnay with a close attention. 

He left escort and escorted without saying a word, how¬ 
ever, and went in to the guardroom; meanwhile they sat 
upon their horses outside the gate. 

Looking about him, Charles Darnay observed that while 
ingress into the city was easy enough, egress was very diffi¬ 
cult. Men and women, beasts, and vehicles of various sorts 
were waiting to go out; but the identification was so strict 
that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. Some of 
these people knew their turn for examination to be so far 
off that they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke, 
while others talked together or loitered about. The red cap 
and tricolor cockade — red, white, and blue rosettes — were 
universal, both among men and women. 

When he had sat in his saddle about one-half hour, taking 
note of these things, Darnay found himself confronted by 
the same man in authority, who directed the guard to 
open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort a receipt 
for the escorted, and requested him to dismount. He did so, 
and the two patriot escorts, leading his tired horse, turned 
and rode away without entering the city. 

He accompanied his conductor into a guardroom, smelling 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


239 


of common wine and tobacco, where certain soldiers 
and patriots, asleep and awake, drunk and sober, were 
standing and lying about. Some registers were on a 
desk, and an officer of .a coarse dark aspect presided over 
them. 

“ Citizen Defarge,” he said to Darnay’s conductor, as he 
took a slip of paper to write on, “ is this the emigrant 
Evremonde ? ” 

“ This is the man.” 

“ Your age, Evremonde? ” 

“ Thirty-seven.” 

“ Married, Evremonde ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Where married ? ” 

“ In England.” 

“ Without doubt. Where is your wife, Evremonde? ” 

“ In England.” 

“ Without doubt. You are consigned, Evremonde, to the 
prison of La Force.” 

“ Just heaven! ” exclaimed Darnay. “Under what law 
and for what offense ? ” 

“We have new laws, Evremonde, and new offenses, since 
you were here.” He said it with a hard smile and went on 
writing. 

“ I entreat you to observe that I have come here volun¬ 
tarily, in response to that written appeal of a fellow-coun¬ 
tryman which lies before you. I demand no more than the 
opportunity to do so without delay. Is not that my right ? ” 

“ Emigrants have no rights, Evremonde,” was the stolid 
reply. The officer wrote until he had finished, read over to 
himself what he had written, and handed it to Defarge, with 
the words “ In secret.” This meant that he was to have no 
communication with the outside world. 

Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he 


240 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


must accompany him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard 
of two armed patriots attended them. 

“ Is it you,” said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went 
down the guardhouse steps and turned into Paris, “ who 
married the daughter of Doctor Manette, once a prisoner 
in the Bastille that is no more ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Darnay, looking at him with surprise. 

“ My name is Defarge, and I keep a wine shop in the 
Quarter Saint Antoine. Possibly you have heard of me.” 

“My wife came to your house to reclaim her father? 
Yes.” 

The word “ wife ” seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder 
to Defarge to say with sudden impatience: 

“ In the name of that sharp female newly born, and called 
La Guillotine, why did you come to France ? ” 

“ You heard me say why, a minute ago. Do you not be¬ 
lieve it is the truth ? ” 

“ A bad truth for you,” said Defarge, speaking with 
knitted brows and looking straight before him. 

“ Indeed, I am lost here. All is so different, so changed, 
so sudden and unfair that I am absolutely lost. Will you 
render me a little help ? ” 

“ None.” Defarge spoke, always looking straight before 
him. 

“ Will you answer me a single question ? ” 

“ Perhaps. You can say what it is.” 

“ In this prison that I am going to so unjustly, shall I 
have some free communication with the outside world? ” 

“ You will see.” 

“ I am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any 
means of presenting my case ? ” 

“ You will see. But what then? Other people have been 
buried in worse prisons, before now.” 

“ But never by me, Citizen Defarge.” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


241 


Defarge glanced darkly at him for answer, and walked on 
in a steady and set silence. The deeper he sank into this 
silence, the fainter hope there was — or so Darnay thought 
— of his softening in any slight degree. He therefore made 
haste to say: 

It is of the utmost importance to me (you know, Citizen 
Defarge, even better than I, of how much importance), that 
I should be able to communicate to Mr. Lorry of Tellson’s 
Bank, an English gentleman who is now in Paris, the simple 
fact, without comment, that I have been thrown into the 
prison of La Force. Will you cause that to be done for 
me? ” 

“ I will do nothing for you. My duty is to my country 
and the People. I am the sworn servant of both against 
you. I will do nothing for you.” 

Charles Darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, 
and his pride was touched besides. As they walked on in 
silence, he noticed how used the people were to the spectacle 
of prisoners passing along the streets. The very children 
scarcely noticed him. In one narrow and dirty street an 
excited orator, mounted on a stool, was addressing an ex¬ 
cited audience on the crimes against the people, of the King 
and the royal family. The few words that he caught from 
this man’s lips first made it known to Charles Darnay that 
the King was in prison and that the foreign ambassadors 
had one and all left Paris. He knew now that he had fallen 
among far greater dangers than had existed when he left 
England. He had to admit to himself that he might not 
have made this journey if he had known the true condition. 
Perils had thickened about him fast and might thicken 
faster and faster. And yet his misgivings were not so dark 
as they would appear imagined by the knowledge of this 
later time. Troubled as the future was, it was the unknown 
future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope. The 


242 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


horrible massacre, days and nights long, which, within a few 
rounds of the clock, was to set a great mark of blood upon 
the time, was as far out of his knowledge as if it had been 
a hundred thousand years away. The “ sharp female newly 
born and called La Guillotine ” was hardly known to him, 
or to the generality of people, by name. The frightful deeds 
that were to be soon done were probably unimagined at that 
time in the brains of the doers. How could they have a 
place in the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind? Of un¬ 
just treatment and hardship, and in cruel separation from 
his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the 
certainty; but beyond this, he dreaded nothing distinctly. 
With this on his mind, which was enough to carry into a 
dreary prison courtyard, he arrived at the prison of La 
Force. 

A man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to 
whom Defarge presented “ The emigrant Evremonde.” 

“ What the devil! How many more of them! ” exclaimed 
the man. 

Defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclama¬ 
tion, and withdrew, with his two fellow patriots. 

“ What the devil, I say again! ’’ exclaimed the jailor, left 
with his wife. “ How many more! ” 

“ One must have patience, my dear! ” his wife merely 
replied. 

Three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang 
echoed the sentiment, and one added, “ For the love of Lib¬ 
erty,” which sounded in that place like an inappropriate 
conclusion. 

The prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and 
filthy, and with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. 

“ In secret, too,” grumbled the jailor, looking at the 
written paper. “ As if I was not already full to bursting! ” 

He stuck the paper on a file, in an ill humor, and Charles 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


243 


Darnay awaited his further pleasure for half an hour, some¬ 
times pacing to and fro, sometimes resting on a stone seat; 
in either case detained to be imprinted on the memory of 
the chief and his subordinates. 

“Come! ” said the chief at length, taking up his keys, 
“ come with me, emigrant.” 

Through the dismal prison twilight his new charge ac¬ 
companied him by corridor and staircase, many doors clang¬ 
ing and locking behind them, until they came into a large, 
low, vaulted room, crowded with prisoners of both sexes. 
The women were seated at a long table, reading and writing, 
knitting, sewing, and embroidering. The men were for the 
most part standing behind their chairs or lingering up and 
down the room. 

In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful 
crime and disgrace, the newcomer recoiled from this com¬ 
pany. But the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride 
was their all at once rising to receive him with every refine¬ 
ment of manner known to the time and with all the engag¬ 
ing graces and courtesies of life. 

So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison 
gloom, so spectral did they become in the misery through 
which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand 
in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of 
beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the 
ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting 
their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him 
eyes that were changed by the death they had died in coming 
there. 

It struck him motionless. The jailor standing at his side, 
♦and the other jailors moving about, looked so coarse con¬ 
trasted with sorrowing mothers who were there — with the 
apparitions of the coquette, the young beauty, and the ma¬ 
ture woman delicately bred —that it seemed as if this must 


244 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

be a dream, or that they were all ghosts. Surely, the long 
unreal ride must have been some progress of disease that 
had brought him to these gloomy shades! 

“ In the name of the assembled companions in misfor¬ 
tune,” said a gentleman of courtly appearance, coming for¬ 
ward, “ I have the honor of giving you welcome to La Force 
and of condoling with you on the calamity that has brought 
you among us. May it soon terminate happily. It would 
be an impertinence elsewhere, but it is not so here, to ask 
your name and condition? ” 

Charles Darnay roused himself and gave the required in¬ 
formation, in words as suitable as he could find. 

“ But I hope,” said the gentleman, “ that you are not in 
secret? ” 

“I do not understand the meaning of the term, but I 
have heard them say so.” 

“Ah, what a pity! We so much regret it! But take 
courage; several members of our society have been in secret 
at first, and it has lasted but a short time.” Then he added, 
raising his voice, “ I grieve to inform the society — in 
secret .” 

There was a murmur of commiseration as Charles Dar¬ 
nay crossed the room to a grated door where the jailor 
awaited him, and many voices — among which were the soft 
and compassionate voices of women — gave him good 
wishes and encouragement. He turned at the grated door 
to render the thanks of his heart. The door closed under 
the jailor’s hand, and the apparition vanished from his sight 
for ever. 

The wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. 
When they had ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half 
an hour already counted them), the jailor opened a low 
black door, and they passed into a solitary cell. It struck 
cold and damp but was not dark. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


245 


Yours,” said the jailor. 

“ Why am I confined alone ? ” 

“ How do I know? ” 

“ I can buy pen, ink, and paper? ” 

“ Such are not my orders. You will be visited, and can 
ask then. At present, you may buy your food, and nothing 
more.” 

There were in the cell a chair, a table, and a straw mat¬ 
tress. As the jailor made a general inspection of these 
objects and of the four walls before going out, a fancy wan¬ 
dered through the prisoner that this jailor was so unwhole¬ 
somely bloated, both in face and person, as to look like a 
man who had been drowned and filled with water. When 
the jailor was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, 
“ Now am I left, as if I were dead.” 


CHAPTER II 
THE GRINDSTONE 

T ELLSON’S BANK, established in the Saint Germain 
Quarter of Paris, was in a wing of a large house, ap¬ 
proached by a courtyard and shut off from the street by a 
high wall and a strong gate. The house had belonged to a 
great nobleman who had lived in it until he had made 
a flight from the troubles, in his own cook’s dress, and got 
across the borders. A mere beast of the chase flying from 
hunters, he was no other than the same Monseigneur, the 
preparation of whose chocolate had once occupied four 
strong men besides the cook. Monseigneur gone and the 
four strong men being more than ready to cut his throat on 
the altar of the dawning Republic one and indivisible of 
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, Monseigneur’s 


246 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


house had been confiscated. Patriot emissaries were in pos¬ 
session of Monseigneur’s house, had marked it with the tri¬ 
color, and were drinking brandy in its state apartments. 

Mr. Lorry occupied rooms in the bank, in his fidelity to 
the house, of which he had grown to be a part, like strong 
root ivy. What money would be drawn out of Tellson’s 
henceforth and what would lie there lost and forgotten; 
what silverware, valuables, and jewels would tarnish in Tell¬ 
son’s hiding places while the owners rusted in prisons, and 
when they should have violently perished; how many ac¬ 
counts with Tellson’s, never to be balanced in this world, 
must be carried over into the next, no man could have said, 
that night, any more than Mr. Jarvis Lorry could, though 
he thought heavily on these questions. He sat by a newly 
lighted wood fire, and on his honest and courageous face 
there was a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could 
throw, — a shade of horror. He had just looked out the 
window at a terrible sight. 

On the opposite side of the courtyard, under a colonnade, 
was extensive standing for carriages — where, indeed, some 
carriages of Monseigneur yet stood. Against two of the 
pillars were fastened two great flaming torches, and in the 
light of these, standing out in the open air, was a large grind¬ 
stone— a roughly mounted thing brought hurriedly from 
some neighboring workshop. But such awful workers, and 
such awful work! 

There was a throng of men and women — not enough, or 
near enough, to fill the courtyard — not more than forty or 
fifty in all. The people in possession of the house had let 
them in at the gate, and they had rushed in to work at the 
grindstone. It had a double handle, and, turning at it 
madly were two men, whose faces were more horrible and 
cruel than those of the wildest savages in their most barbar¬ 
ous disguise. False eyebrows and false moustaches were 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


247 


stuck upon them, and their hideous countenances were all 
bloody and sweaty, and all awry with howling, and glaring 
with beastly excitement and want of sleep. As these ruffians 
turned and turned, their matted locks now flung forward 
over their eyes, now flung backward over their necks, some 
women held wine to their mouths that they might drink; 
and what with dropping blood, and what with dropping 
wine, and what with the stream of sparks struck out of the 
stone, all their wicked atmosphere seemed blood and fire. 
The eye could not detect one creature in the group free from 
the smear of blood. Shouldering one another to get next 
at the sharpening stone were men stripped to the waist, with 
the stain all over limbs and bodies; men in all sorts of rags, 
with the stain upon those rags; men devilishly set off with 
spoils of women’s lace and silk and ribbon, with the stain 
dyeing those trifles through and through. Hatchets, 
knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened, were 
all red with it. Some of the hacked swords were tied to the 
wrists of those who carried them, with strips of linen and 
fragments of dress, all deep of the one color. And as the 
frantic wielders of these weapons snatched them from the 
stream of sparks and tore away into the streets, the same 
red hue was red in their frenzied eyes — eyes which any un¬ 
brutalized beholder would have given twenty years of his 
life to petrify with a well-directed gun. 

Mr. Lorry had shivered and retired to his seat by the 
fire. From the streets beyond the high wall and the strong 
gate came the usual night hum of the city, with now and 
then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if 
some unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to 
heaven. 

“ Thank God,” said Mr. Lorry, clasping his hands, “ that 
no one near and dear to me is in this dreadful town tonight. 
May He have mercy on all who are in danger! ” 


248 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Soon afterwards, the bell at the great gate sounded, and 
he thought, “ They have come back! ” and sat listening, 
when his door suddenly opened and two figures rushed in, at 
sight of which he fell back in amazement. 

Lucie and her father! Lucie with her arms stretched out 
to him and with that old look of earnestness concentrated 
and intensified. 

“ What is this ? ” cried Mr. Lorry, breathless and con¬ 
fused. “What is the matter? Lucie! Manette! What 
has happened ? What has brought you here ? What is it ? ” 

With the look fixed upon him, in her paleness and wild¬ 
ness, she panted out in his arms imploringly: 

“ 0, my dear friend! My husband! ” 

“ Your husband, Lucie? ” 

“ Charles.” 

“What of Charles?” 

“ Here.” 

“ Here in Paris? ” 

“ Has been some days — three or four — I don’t know 
how many — I can’t collect my thoughts. An errand of 
generosity brought him here unknown to us. He was 
stopped at the barrier and sent to prison.” 

Mr. Lorry uttered an irrepressible cry. Almost at the 
same moment the bell of the great gate rang again, and a 
loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the court¬ 
yard. 

“ What is that noise? ” said the Doctor, turning towards 
the window. 

“Don’t look! ” cried Mr. Lorry. “Don’t.look out! Ma¬ 
nette, for your life, don’t touch the blind! ” 

The Doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of 
the window and said, with a cool, bold smile: 

“ My dear friend, I have a charmed life in this city. 
I have been a Bastille prisoner. There is no patriot in 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


249 


Paris — in Paris? In France — who, knowing me to have 
been a prisoner in the Bastille, would touch me, except to 
overwhelm me with embraces or carry me in triumph. My 
old pain has given me a power that has brought us through 
the barrier and gained us news of Charles there, and 
brought us here. I knew it would be so. I knew I could 
help Charles out of all danger. I told Lucie so. —What 
is that noise ? ” His hand was again upon the window. 

“ Don’t look! ” cried Mr. Lorry, absolutely desperate. 
“ No, Lucie, my dear, nor you! ” He got his arm round her, 
and held her. “ Don’t look so terrified, my love. I sol¬ 
emnly swear to you that I know of no harm having hap¬ 
pened to Charles; that I had no suspicion even of his being 
in this fatal place. What prison is he in? ” 

“La Force! ” 

“La Force! Lucie, my child, if ever you were brave 
and serviceable in your life — and you were always both — 
you will compose yourself now, to do exactly as I bid you. 
More depends upon it than you can think, or I can say. 
There is no help for you in any action on your part tonight. 
You cannot possibly stir out. I say this, because what I must 
bid you do for Charles’s sake is the hardest thing to do of 
all. You must instantly be obedient, still, and quiet. You 
must let me put you in a room at the back here. You 
must leave your father and me alone for two minutes, and 
as there are Life and Death in the world you must not 
delay.” 

“ I will be submissive to you. I see in your face that you 
know I can do nothing else than this. I know you are 
true.” 

The old man kissed her, and hurried her into his room, 
and turned the key; then came hurrying back to the Doctor, 
and opened the window and partly opened the blind. He 
put his hand upon the Doctor’s arm, and looked out with 


250 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


him into the courtyard for a moment. They drew back 
from the window, and the Doctor looked for explanation in 
his friend’s pale face. 

“ They are,” Mr. Lorry whispered the words, glancing 
fearfully round at the locked room, “ murdering the pris¬ 
oners. If you are sure of what you say, if you really have 
the power you think you have — as I believe you have — 
make yourself known to these devils and get taken to La 
Force. It may be too late, I don’t know, but let it not be 
a minute later! ” 

Doctor Manette pressed his hand and rushed bareheaded 
out of the room. He was in the courtyard when Mr. Lorry 
regained the blind. 

His streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the 
impetuous confidence of his manner, as he put the weapons 
aside like water, carried him in' an instant to the grindstone. 
For a few moments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a 
murmur, and the unintelligible sound of his voice. Then 
Mr. Lorry saw him, surrounded by all, and in the midst 
of a line of twenty men long, all linked shoulder to shoul¬ 
der, and hand to shoulder, hurried out with cries of “ Live 
the Bastille prisoner! Help for the Bastille prisoner’s 
kindred in La Force! Room for the Bastille prisoner in 
front there! Save the prisoner Evremonde at La Force! ” 
and a thousand answering shouts. 

He closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed 
the window and the curtain, hastened to Lucie, and told her 
that her father was assisted by the people, and gone in 
search of her husband. He found her child and Miss Pross 
with her; but it never occurred to him to be surprised by 
their appearance until a long time afterwards, when he 
sat watching them in such quiet as the night knew. 

Lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor 
at his feet, clinging to his hand. Miss Pross had laid the 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


251 


child down on his own bed, and her head had gradually 
fallen on the pillow beside her pretty charge. 0 the long, 
long night, with the moans of the poor wife! And 0 the long, 
long night, with no return of her father and no tidings! 

Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate 
sounded, and the irruption was repeated, and the grind¬ 
stone whirled and spluttered. 

“ What is it? ” cried Lucie, affrighted. 

“ Hush! The soldiers’ swords are sharpened there; the 
place is national property now, and used as a kind of 
armoury, my love.” 

Twice more in all, but the last spell of work was feeble 
and fitful. Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and 
he softly detached himself from the clasping hand, and 
cautiously looked out again. A man, so besmeared with 
blood that he looked like a sorely wounded soldier creeping 
back to consciousness on a field of slain, was rising from the 
pavement by the side of the grindstone, and looking about 
him with a vacant air. Shortly, this worn-out murderer saw 
in the imperfect light one of the carriages of Monseigneur. 
Staggering to that gorgeous vehicle he climbed in at the 
door, and shut himself up to take his rest on its dainty 
cushions. 

The great grindstone, Earth, had turned, when Mr. Lorry 
looked out again, and the sun was red on the courtyard. 
But the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm 
morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never 
given, and would never take away. 


252 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER III 
THE SHADOW 


O NE of the first considerations which arose in the busi¬ 
ness mind of Mr. Lorry when business hours came 
round was that he had no right to imperil Tellson’s by shel¬ 
tering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under the bank roof. 

His own possessions, safety, life, he would have risked 
without any hesitation; but the great trust he held was not 
his own, and as to that business charge he was a strict man 
of business. 

At first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of 
finding out the wine shop again and taking counsel with 
its master in reference to the safest dwelling place in the 
distracted state of the city. But the same suggestion 
that suggested him, repudiated him; he lived in the most 
violent quarter, and doubtless was influential there, and 
deep in its dangerous workings. 

Noon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every 
minute’s delay tending to compromise Tellson’s, Mr. Lorry 
consulted Lucie. She said that her father had spoken 
of hiring a lodging for a short term near the banking house. 
As there was no business objection to this and as he foresaw 
that even, if it were all well with Charles and he were to 
be released, he could not hope to leave the city, Mr. Lorry 
went out in quest of such a lodging and found a suitable 
one, high up in a removed by-street where the closed 
blinds in all the other windows of a high melancholy square 
of buildings marked deserted homes. 

To this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child 
and Miss Pross, giving them what comfort he could, and 
much more than he had himself. He left Jerry with them, 
as a figure to fill a doorway that would bear considerable 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


253 


knocking on the head, and returned to his occupations. A 
disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, 
and slowly and heavily the day lagged on with him. 

It wore itself out and wore him out with it, until the bank 
closed. He was again alone in his room of the previous 
night, considering what to do next, when he heard a foot 
upon the stair. In a few moments, a man stood in his 
presence who, with a keenly observant look at him, ad¬ 
dressed him by his name. 

“ Your servant,” said Mr. Lorry. “ Do you know me? ” 

He was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, 
from forty-five to fifty years of age. For answer he re¬ 
peated, without any change of emphasis: 

“ Do you know me ? ” 

“ I have seen you somewhere.” 

“ Perhaps at my wine shop ? ” 

Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: “You 
come from Doctor Manette? ” 

“ Yes. I come from Doctor Manette.” 

“ And what says he? What does he send me? ” 

Defarge gave into his anxious hand an open scrap of 
paper. It bore the words in the Doctor’s writing: 

“Charles is safe, but I cannot safely leave this place 
yet. I have obtained the favor that the bearer has a short 
note from Charles to his wife. Let the bearer see his wife. 

It was dated from La Force, within an hour. 

“Will you accompany me,” said Mr. Lorry, joyfully 
relieved after reading this note aloud, to where his wife 
resides ? ” 

“ Yes,” returned Defarge. 

Scarcely noticing yet in what a curiously reserved and 
mechanical way Defarge spoke Mr. Lorry put on his hat, 
and they went dq^vn into the courtyard. There they found 
two women, one knitting. 


254 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Madame Defarge, surely! ” said Mr. Lorry, who had 
left her in exactly the same attitude some seventeen years 
ago. 

“ It is she,” observed her husband. 

“ Does madame go with us ? ” inquired Mr. Lorry, see¬ 
ing that she moved as they moved. 

“ Yes. That she may be able to recognize the faces and 
know the persons. It is for their safety.” 

Beginning to be struck by Defarge’s manner, Mr. Lorry 
looked dubiously at him and led the way. Both the women 
followed, the second woman being The Vengeance. 

They passed through the intervening streets as quickly 
as they might, ascended the staircase of the apartment, 
were admitted by Jerry, and found Lucie weeping alone. 
She was thrown into a transport by the tidings Mr. Lorry 
gave her of her husband, and clasped the hand that de¬ 
livered his note — little thinking what it had been doing 
near him in the night and might, but for a chance, have 
done to him. 

“ Dearest, take courage. I am well, and your father has 
influence around me. You cannot answer this. Kiss our 
child for me.” 

That was all the writing. It was so much, however, to 
her who received it that she turned from Defarge to his 
wife and kissed one of the hands that knitted. It was a 
passionate, loving, thankful, womanly action, but the hand 
made no response — dropped cold and heavy, and took to its 
knitting again. 

There was something in its touch that gave Lucie a check. 
She stopped in the act of putting the note in her bosom, 
and with her hands yet at her neck looked terrified at Ma¬ 
dame Defarge. Madame Defarge met the lifted eyebrows 
and forehead with a cold impassive stare. 

“ My dear,” said Mr. Lorry, striking in to explain, “ there 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


255 


are frequent risings in the streets; and although it is not 
likely they will ever trouble you, Madame Defarge wishes 
to see those whom she has the power to protect at such 
times, that she may know them — that she may identify 
them. I believe,” said Mr. Lorry, rather halting in his 
reassuring words, as the stony manner of all the three im¬ 
pressed itself upon him more and more, “ I state the case, 
Citizen Defarge ? ” 

Defarge looked gloomily at his wife, and gave no other 
answer than a rough sound of acquiescence. 

“You had better, Lucie,” said Mr. Lorry, doing all 
he could to propitiate by tone and manner, “ have the dear 
child here, and our good Pross. Our good Pross, Defarge, is 
an English lady and knows no French.” 

The lady in question, whose conviction was that she was 
more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken 
by distress and danger. She appeared with folded arms, 
and observed in English to The Vengeance, whom her eyes 
first encountered, “ Well, I am sure, Boldface, I hope you 
are pretty well! ” She also bestowed a British cough on 
Madame Defarge, but neither of the two took much heed 
of her. 

“ Is that his child ? ” said Madame Defarge, stopping in 
her work for the first time and pointing her knitting needle 
at little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate. 

“Yes, madame,” answered Mr. Lorry; “this is our poor 
prisoner’s darling daughter, and only child.” 

The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her 
party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child 
that her mother instinctively kneeled on the floor beside 
her and held her to her breast. The shadow attendant 
on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to 
fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the 
child. 


256 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ It is enough, my husband,” said Madame Defarge. 
“ I have seen them. We may go.” 

But the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it 
— not visible and presented, but indistinct and withheld — 
to alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand 
on Madame Defarge’s dress: 

“ You will be good to my poor husband. You will 
do him no harm. You will help me to see him if you 
can? ” 

“ Your husband is not my business here,” returned Ma¬ 
dame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect com¬ 
posure. “ It is the daughter of your father who is my 
business here.” 

“ For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For 
my child's sake! She will put her hands together and 
pray you to be merciful. We are more afraid of you than 
of the others.” 

Madame Defarge received it as a compliment and looked 
at her husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting 
his thumb nail and looking at her, collected his face into 
a sterner expression. 

“ What is it that your husband says in that little letter? ” 
asked Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. “ Influ¬ 
ence — he says something touching influence ? ” 

“ That my father,” said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper 
from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner 
and not on it, “ has much influence around him.” 

“ Surely it will release him! ” said Madame Defarge. 
“ Let it do so.” 

“As a wife and mother,” cried Lucie, most earnestly, 
“ I implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise 
any power you possess against my innocent husband, but 
to use it in his behalf. Oh, sister-woman, think of me. As a 
wife and mother! ” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 257 

Madame Defarge looked coldly as ever at the suppliant 
and said, turning to her friend, The Vengeance: 

“ The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since 
we were as old as this little child and much less, have not 
been greatly considered? We have known their husbands 
and fathers laid in prison and kept from them often enough ? 
All our lives we have seen our sister-women suffer, in them¬ 
selves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, 
thirst, sickness, misery, oppression, and neglect of all 
kinds ? ” 

“ We have seen nothing else,” returned The Vengeance. 

“ We have borne this a long time,” said Madame De¬ 
farge, turning her eyes again upon Lucie. “Judge you! 
Is it likely that the trouble of one wife and mother would 
be much to us now ? ” 

She resumed her knitting and went out. The Vengeance 
followed. Defarge went last and closed the door. 

“ Courage, my dear Lucie,” said Mr. Lorry, as he raised 
her. “ Courage! So far all goes well with us — much, 
much better than it has of late gone with many poor souls. 
Cheer up, and have a thankful heart.” 

“ I am not thankless, I hope, but that dreadful woman 
seems to throw a shadow on me and on all my hopes.” 

“ Tut, tut! ” said Mr. Lorry; “ what is this despondency 
in the brave little breast? A shadow indeed! No substance 
in it, Lucie.” 

But the shadow of the manner of these Defarges was dark 
upon himself, for all that, and in his secret mind it troubled 
him greatly. 


258 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER IV 
CALM IN STORM 

D OCTOR MANETTE did not return until the morning 
of the fourth day of his absence. The crowd had taken 
him through a scene of horrible slaughter to the prison of La 
Force. They had taken him to a self-appointed tribunal 
before which the prisoners were brought singly and by which 
they were rapidly ordered to be massacred, or to be re¬ 
leased, or (in a few cases) to be sent back to their cells. 
He was presented by his conductors to this tribunal. He 
had announced himself by name and profession as having 
been for eighteen years a secret and unaccused prisoner 
in the Bastille. One member of the tribunal had risen and 
identified him. This man was Defarge. 

Then he had ascertained, through the registers on the 
table, that his son-in-law was among the living prisoners. 
He had pleaded hard to the tribunal — of whom some were 
asleep and some awake, some drunk and some sober, some 
dirty with murder and some clean — for his life and liberty. 
In the first frantic greetings lavished on himself, it had been 
accorded to him to have Charles Darnay brought before this 
lawless court and tried. He seemed on the point of being 
at once released when the tide in his favor met with some 
unexplained check (not intelligible to the Doctor), which 
led to a few words of secret conference. 

The man sitting as president had then informed Doctor 
Manette that the prisoner must remain in custody, but 
should, for his sake, be held uninjured in safe custody. 
Immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the 
interior of the prison again; but the Doctor had so strongly 
pleaded for permission to remain and assure himself that 
his son-in-law was not delivered to the mob, whose murder- 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


259 


ous yells outside the gate had often drowned the pro¬ 
ceedings, that he had obtained the permission to remain 
in that Hall of Blood until the danger was over. The sights 
he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep by 
intervals, shall remain untold. The mad joy over the pris¬ 
oners who were saved had astonished him scarcely less than 
the mad ferocity against those who were cut to pieces. One 
prisoner there was, he said, who had been discharged into 
the street free, but at whom a mistaken savage had thrust 
a pike as he passed out. Being asked to go to him and dress 
the wound, the Doctor had passed out at the same gate, and 
had found him in the arms of a company of Samaritans, 
who were seated on the bodies of their victims. With an 
inconsistency as monstrous as anything in this awful night¬ 
mare, they had helped the Doctor, and tended the wounded 
man with the gentlest solicitude — had made a litter for him 
and escorted him carefully from the spot — had then caught 
up their weapons and plunged anew into a butchery so 
dreadful that the Doctor had covered his eyes with his 
hands and fainted in the midst of it. 

As Mr. Lorry received these confidences and as he watched 
the face of his friend now sixty-two years of age, a fear 
arose within him that such dread experiences would revive 
the old danger. But he had never seen his friend in his 
present aspect; he had never at all known him in his present 
character. For the first time the Doctor felt, now, that his 
suffering was strength and power. For the first time he 
felt that in that sharp fire he had slowly forged the iron 
which could break the prison door of his daughter’s husband 
and deliver him. “ It all tended to a good end, my friend; 
it was not mere waste and ruin. As my beloved child was 
helpful in restoring me to myself, I will be helpful now in 
restoring the dearest part of herself to her; by the aid of 
Heaven I will do it! ” Thus Doctor Manette. And when 


260 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Jarvis Lorry saw the kindled eyes, the resolute face, the 
calm, strong look and bearing of the man whose life always 
seemed to him to have been stopped like a clock for so 
many years, and then set going again, he believed. 

While Dr. Manette kept himself in his place as a physi¬ 
cian whose business was with all degrees of mankind, he 
used his personal influence so wisely that he was soon the 
inspecting physician of three prisons, and among them 
of La Force. He could now assure Lucie that her husband 
was no longer confined alone, but was mixed with the 
general body of prisoners. He saw her husband weekly 
and brought sweet messages to her, straight from his lips. 
Sometimes her husband himself sent a letter to her, though 
never by the Doctor’s hand, but she was not permitted 
to write to him; for among the many wild suspicions of 
plots in the prisons, the wildest of all pointed at emigrants 
who were known to have made friends abroad. 

The Doctor took the lead and direction, and required them 
as the weak, to trust to him as the strong. The preceding 
relative positions of himself and Lucie were reversed. “ All 
curious to see,” thought Mr. Lorry, “ but all natural and 
right; so take the lead, my dear friend, and keep it; it 
couldn’t be in better hands.” 

But though the Doctor tried hard and never ceased trying 
to get Charles Darnay set at liberty, or at least to get him 
brought to trial, the public current of the time set too fast 
for him. The new era began. The King was tried, doomed, 
and beheaded. The Republic of Liberty, Equality, Fra¬ 
ternity, or Death, declared for victory or death against the 
world in arms. The black flag waved night and day from 
the great towers of Notre Dame. Three hundred thousand 
men, summoned to rise against the tyrants of the earth, 
rose from all the varying soils of France, as if the dragon’s 
teeth had been sown broadcast, and yielded fruit equally 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


261 


on hill and plain. There was no pause, no pity, no peace, 
no interval of relenting rest, no measurement of time. Now, 
breaking the unnatural silence of a whole city, the execu¬ 
tioner showed the people the head of the King — and now, 
it seemed almost in the same breath, the head of his fair 
wife, which had had eight weary months of imprisoned 
widowhood and misery to turn it grey. 

A revolutionary tribunal was established in Paris, and 
forty or fifty thousand revolutionary committees all over 
the land; also a Law of the Suspected, which struck away 
all security for life or liberty and delivered over any good 
and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons 
were gorged with people who had committed no offense and 
could obtain no hearing. Above all, one hideous figure grew 
as familiar as if it had been before the general gaze from the 
foundations of the world — the figure of the sharp female 
called La Guillotine. 

It was the popular theme for jests. It was the best cure 
for headache. It infallibly prevented the hair from turning 
grey and imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion. 
It was the National Razor which shaved close. Who kissed 
La Guillotine looked through the little window and sneezed 
into the sack. It was the sign of the regeneration of the 
human race. It superseded the Cross. Models of it were 
worn on breasts from which the Cross was discarded, and 
it was bowed down to and believed in where the Cross was 
denied. 

It sheared off heads so many that it and the ground it most 
polluted were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a 
toy puzzle, for a young devil and- put together again when 
the occasion wanted it. It hushed the eloquent, struck 
down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. It 
lopped off the heads of twenty-one friends of high public 
mark one morning in twenty-one minutes. The name of the 


262 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


strong man of Old Scripture descended to the official who 
worked it, 1 but, so armed, he was stronger than his name¬ 
sake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of God's own 
temple every day. 

Among these terrors the Doctor walked with a steady 
head, confident in his power, never doubting that he would 
save Lucie's husband. Yet .the current of the time swept by, 
so strong and deep, and carried the time away so fiercely, 
that Charles Darnay had been in prison one year and three 
months when the Doctor was thus steady and confident. So 
much more wicked and distracted had the Revolution 
grown in that December month that the rivers of the south 
were encumbered with the bodies of the violently drowned 
by night, and prisoners were shot in lines and squares under 
the southern wintry sun. Still the Doctor walked among 
the terrors with a steady head; no man better known than 
he in Paris at that time. Silent, humane, indispensable in 
hospital and prison, using his art equally among assassins 
and victims, he was a man apart. In the exercise of his 
skill, the appearance and the story of the Bastille, captive 
removed him from all other men. He was not suspected or 
brought in question, any more than if he had indeed been 
recalled to life some eighteen years before, or were a spirit 
moving among mortals. 

1 Sanson, the executioner, was very often called “ Samson.” The 
office had been in his family for many generations. Look up the 
Biblical reference to Samson. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


263 


CHAPTER V 
THE WOOD-SAWYER 

O NE year and three months. During all that time Lucie 
was never sure, from hour to hour, but that the guillo¬ 
tine would strike off her husband’s head next day. Every 
day through the stony streets the tumbrils now jolted 
heavily, filled with condemned, on the way from prison 
to the guillotine. Lovely girls; bright women; brown¬ 
haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart men and 
old; gentle born and peasant born; all red wine for La 
Guillotine, all daily brought into light from the dark cellars 
of the loathsome prisons and carried to her through the 
street to slake her devouring thirst. Liberty, equality, 
fraternity, or death; —the last, much the easiest to bestow, 
0 Guillotine! 

Lucie did not await the result in idle despair. As soon as 
they were-established in their new residence and her father 
had begun his work as a physician, she arranged the little 
household as exactly as if her husband had been there. 
Everything had its appointed place and its appointed time. 
Little Lucie she taught as regularly as if they had all been 
united in their English home. The slight devices with 
which she cheated herself into the show of a belief that they 
would soon be reunited — the little preparations for his 
speedy return, the setting aside of his chair and his books — 
these and the solemn prayer at night for one dear prisoner, 
among the many unhappy souls in prison and the shadow 
of death were almost the only outspoken reliefs of her heavy 
mind. Sometimes at night, on kissing her father, she would 
burst into the grief she had repressed all day and would say 
that her only reliance, under Heaven, was on him. He always 
answered resolutely: 


264 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Nothing can happen to him without my knowledge, and 
I know that I can save him, Lucie.” 

They had not made the round of their changed life many 
weeks, when her father said to her, on coming home to her 
one evening: 

“ My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to 
which Charles can sometimes gain access at three in the 
afternoon. When he can get to it — which depends on many 
uncertainties and incidents — he might see you in the street, 
he thinks, if you stood in a certain place that I can show 
you. But you will not be able to see him, my poor child; 
and even if you could, it would not be safe for you to make 
a sign of recognition.” 

“ Oh, show me the place, my father, and I will go there 
every day.” 

From that time in all weathers, she waited there two 
hours. As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four 
she turned resignedly away. When it was not too wet or 
cold for her child to be with her, they went together; at 
other times she was alone; but she never missed a single 
day. 

It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. 
The hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, 
was the only house at the end; all else was wall. On the 
third day of her being there, he noticed her. 

“ Good day, citizeness.” 

“ Good day, citizen.” 

This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It 
was a v law for everybody. 

“Walking here again, citizeness?” 

“ You see me, citizen.” 

The wood-sawyer, who was a little man of many motions 
(he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the 
prison, pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers 



It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. 



































































































































































266 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

before his face to represent bars, peeped through them 
jocosely. 

“ But it’s not my business/’ he said, and went on sawing 
wood. 

Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her 
the moment she appeared. 

“What? Walking here again, citizeness?” 

“ Yes, citizen!” 

“Ah! A child, too! Your mother, is it not, my little 
citizeness ? ” 

“ Do I say yes, mamma ? ” whispered little Lucie, drawing 
close to her. 

“ Yes, dearest.” 

“ Yes, citizen.” 

“Ah! But it’s not my business. My work is my busi¬ 
ness. See my saw! I call it my little Guillotine. La, la, 
la; la, la, la! And off his head comes! ” 

The piece of wood fell as he spoke, and he threw it into 
a basket. 

“ I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See 
here again! Loo, loo, loo; loo, loo, loo! And off her head 
comes! Now a child. Tickle, tickle; pickle, pickle! And 
off its head comes. All the family! ” 

Lucie shuddered as he threw two more sticks into 
his baskets, but it was impossible to be there while the 
wood-sawyer was at work and not be in his sight. Thence¬ 
forth, to secure his goodwill, she always spoke to him 
first and often gave him drink money, which he readily 
received. 

He was an inquisitive fellow and sometimes, when she 
had quite forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and 
grates, and in lifting her heart up to her husband, she would 
come to herself to find him looking at her, with his knee on 
his bench and his saw stopped in its work. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 267 

“ But it’s not my business! ” he would generally say at 
those times, and would briskly fall to his sawing again. 

In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the 
bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the 
rains of autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, 
Lucie passed two hours of every day at this place: and 
every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her 
husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might 
be once in five or six times: it might be twice or thrice 
running; it might be not for a week or two together. It was 
enough that he could and did see her when the chances 
served, and on that possibility she would have waited out 
the day, seven days a week. 

These occupations brought her round to the December 
month, wherein her father, walked among the terrors with 
a steady head. On a lightly snowing afternoon she arrived 
at the usual corner. It was a day of some wild rejoicing, 
and a festival. She had seen the houses, as she came along, 
decorated with little pikes, and with little red caps stuck 
upon them; also, with tricolored ribbons; also, with the 
standard inscription (tricolored letters were the favorite), 
“ Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fra¬ 
ternity, or Death! ” 

The miserable shop of the wood-sawyer was so small that 
its whole surface hardly furnished enough space for this 
legend. He had got somebody to scrawl it up for him, 
however, who had squeezed Death in with most inappro¬ 
priate difficulty. On his house top, he displayed pike and 
cap, as a good citizen must, and in a window he had sta¬ 
tioned his saw inscribed as “ Little Sainte Guillotine.” His 
shop was shut and he was not there, which was a relief 
to Lucie, and left her quite alone. 

But he was not far off, for presently she heard a troubled 
movement and a shouting coming along, which filled her 


268 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


with fear. A moment afterwards, and a throng of people 
came pouring around the corner by the prison wall, in 
the midst of whom was the wood-sawyer hand in hand 
with The Vengeance. There were about five hundred peo¬ 
ple, and they were dancing like five thousand demons. 
There was no other music than their own singing. They 
danced to the popular Revolution song, keeping ferocious 
time that was like a gnashing of teeth in unison. Men and 
women danced together, women danced together, men 
danced together, as chance had brought them together. 
At first they were a mere storm of coarse red caps and 
coarse woolen rags; but as they filled the place, and stopped 
to dance about Lucie, some ghastly apparition of a dance 
figure gone raving mad arose among them. They ad¬ 
vanced, retreated, struck at one another’s hands, clutched 
at one another’s heads, spun round alone, caught one an¬ 
other and spun round in pairs, until many of them dropped. 
While those were down, the rest linked hand in hand, and 
all spun round together; then the ring broke, and in sepa¬ 
rate rings of two and four they turned and turned until 
they all stopped at once, began again, struck, clutched, and 
tore, and then reversed the spin, and all spun round another 
way. Suddenly they stopped again, paused, struck out the 
time afresh, formed into lines the width of the public way 
and, with their heads low down, and their hands high up, 
swooped screaming off. No fight could have been half so 
terrible as this dance. It was so emphatically a fallen sport 

— a something, once innocent, delivered over to all devilry 

— a healthy pastime changed into a means of angering 
the blood, bewildering the senses, and steeling the heart. 
Such grace as was visible in it made it the uglier, showing 
how warped and perverted all things good by nature were 
become. The maidenly bosom bared to this, the pretty 
almost-child’s head thus distracted, the delicate foot mincing 









% 




La Carmagnole 









































































































































































270 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


in this slough of blood and dirt, were types of the disjointed 
times. This was the Carmagnole. 1 

As it passed, leaving Lucie frightened and bewildered in 
the doorway of the wood-sawyer’s house, the feathery snow 
fell quietly and lay as white and soft as if it had never 
been. 

“ 0, my father! ” for he stood before her when she lifted 
up the eyes she had momentarily darkened with her hand; 
“ such a cruel, bad sight.” 

“ I know, my dear, I know. I have seen it many times! 
Don’t be frightened! Not one of them would harm you.” 

“ I am not frightened for myself, my father. But when 
I think of my husband and the mercies of these people — ” 

“We will set him above their mercies very soon. I left 
him climbing to the window, and I came to tell you. There' 
is no one here to see. You may kiss your hand towards 
that highest shelving roof.” 

“ I do so, father, and I send him my soul with it! ” 

“ You cannot see him, my poor dear? ” 

“ No, father,” said Lucie, yearning and weeping as she 
kissed her hand, “ no.” 

A footstep in the snow. Madame Defarge. “ I salute you, 
citizeness,” said the Doctor. “ I salute you, citizen.” This 
in passing. Nothing m'bre. Madame Defarge gone, like 
a shadow over the white" road. 

“ Dive me your arm, my- 'love. Pass from here with an 
air of cheerfulness and courage, for his sake. That was 
well done.” They had left the spot. “ It shall not be in 
vain. Charles is summoned for tomorrow.” 

“For tomorrow! ” 

“ There is no time to lose. I am well prepared, but there 
are precautions to be taken that could not be taken un¬ 
til he was actually summoned before the tribunal. He 

1 See page 269. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


271 


has not received the notice yet, but I know that he will 
presently be summoned for tomorrow, and removed to 
the Conciergerie. I have timely information. You are not 
afraid? ” 

She could scarcely answer, “ I trust in you.” 

“ Do so, implicitly. Your suspense is nearly ended, my 
darling; he shall be restored to you within a few hours. 
I have encompassed him with every protection. I must 
see Lorry.” 

He stopped. There was a heavy lumbering of wheels 
within hearing. They both knew too well what it meant. 
One. Two. Three. Three tumbrils faring away with their 
dread loads over the hushing snow. 

“ I must see Lorry,” the Doctor repeated, turning her 
another way. 

The staunch old gentleman was still in his trust; had 
never left it. He and his books were in frequent requisition 
as to property confiscated and made national. What he 
could save for the owners, he saved. No better man living 
to hold fast by what Tellson’s had in keeping, and to hold 
his peace. 

A murky red and yellow sky, and a rising mist from the 
Seine, denoted the approach of darkness. It was almost 
dark when they arrived at the bank. The stately residence 
of Monseigneur was blighted and deserted. Above a heap 
of dust and ashes in the court ran the letters: “ National 
Property. Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, 
Fraternity, or Death! ” 

Who could that be with Mr. Lorry in his inner room — 
the owner of the riding coat upon the chair — who must 
not be seen? From whom newly arrived in Paris, did Mr. 
Lorry come out of his inner room, agitated and surprised, to 
take his favorite in his arms? To whom did he appear to re¬ 
peat her faltering words, when, raising his voice and turning 


•w 


272 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

his head towards the door of the room from which he had 
issued, he said: 

“Removed to the Conciergerie and summoned for to¬ 
morrow ? ” 


CHAPTER VI 
TRIUMPH 

T HE dread tribunal of five judges, public prosecutor, and 
jury sat every day. Their lists went forth every 
evening and were read out by the jailors of the various 
prisons to their prisoners. The standard jailor-joke was, 
“ Come out and listen to the Evening Paper, you inside 
there! ” 

“ Charles Evremonde, called Darnay! ” 

So at last began the evening paper at La Force. 

When a name was called, its owner stepped apart into 
a spot reserved for those who were announced as being 
thus fatally recorded. Charles Darnay had reason to know 
the usage; he had seen hundreds pass away so. 

His bloated jailor, who wore spectacles to read with, 
glanced over them to assure himself that he had taken his 
place, and read through his list, making a similar short 
pause at each name. There were twenty-three names but 
only twenty were responded to; for one of the prisoners 
so summoned had died in jail and been forgotten, and two 
had already been guillotined and forgotten. The list was 
read in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen the 
associated prisoners on the night of his arrival. Every one 
of those had perished in the massacre of September, 1792. 
Every human creature he had since cared for and parted 
with had died on the scaffold. 

The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark. The 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


273 


night in its vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next 
day, fifteen prisoners were put to the bar before Charles 
Darnay’s name was called. All the fifteen were condemned, 
and the trials of the whole occupied an hour and a half, 
giving less than five minutes to each. 

“ Charles Evremonde, called Darnay,” was at length 
arraigned. 

His judges sat upon the bench in feathered hats; but the 
rough red cap and tricolored cockade was the headdress 
otherwise prevailing. Looking at the jury and the turbu¬ 
lent audience, he might have thought that the usual order 
of things was reversed and that the criminals were trying 
the honest men. The lowest, crudest, and worst populace 
of a city were directing the scene, noisily commenting, ap¬ 
plauding, disapproving, anticipating and precipitating the 
result without a check. Of the men the greater part were 
armed in various ways; of the women some wore knives, 
some daggers, some ate and drank as they looked on, many 
knitted. Among these last was one with a spare piece of 
knitting under her arm as she worked. She was in a front 
row, by the side of a man whom he had never seen since his 
arrival at the barrier, but whom he directly remembered 
as Defarge. He noticed that she once or twice whispered 
in his ear and that she seemed to be his wife; but what he 
most noticed in the two figures was that, although they 
were posted as close to himself as they could be, they 
never looked towards him. They seemed to be waiting 
for something with a dogged determination, and they 
looked at the jury, but at nothing else. Under the Presi¬ 
dent sat Doctor Manette, in his usual quiet dress. As well 
as the prisoner could see, he and Mr. Lorry were the only 
men there, unconnected with the tribunal, who wore their 
usual clothes, and had not assumed the coarse garb of the 
Carmagnole. 


274 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Charles Evremonde, called Darnay, was accused by the 
prosecutor as an emigrant whose life was forfeit to the re¬ 
public under the decree which banished all emigrants on 
pain of death. It was nothing that this law had been made 
since his return to France. There he was, and there was 
the law: he had been taken in France, and his head was 
demanded. 

“ Take off his head! ” cried the audience. “ An enemy to 
the republic! ” 

The President rang his bell to silence those cries and asked 
the prisoner whether it was not true that he had lived many 
years in England? 

Undoubtedly it was. 

Was he not an emigrant then? What did he call himself? 

Not an emigrant, he hoped, within the sense and spirit of 
the law. 

Why not ? the President desired to know. 

Because he had voluntarily relinquished a title that was 
distasteful to him and a station that was distasteful to him, 
and had left his country (before the word “ emigrant ” 
in its present meaning by the tribunal was in use) to live 
by his own industry in England, rather than on the industry 
of the overladen people of France. 

What proof had he of this? 

He handed in the names of two witnesses: Theophile Ga- 
belle and Alexander Manette. 

But he had married in England? the President reminded 
him. 

True, but not an Englishwoman. 

A citizeness of France? 

Yes. By birth. 

Her name and family? 

“ Lucie Manette, only daughter of Doctor Manette, the 
good physician who sits there.” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


275 


This answer had a happy effect upon the audience. Cries 
in exaltation of the well-known good physician rent the 
hall. So capriciously were the people moved that tears 
immediately rolled down several ferocious countenances 
which had been glaring at the prisoner before, as if with 
impatience to pluck him out into the streets and kill 
him. 

On these few steps of his dangerous way, Charles Darnay 
had set his foot according to Doctor Manette’s reiterated 
instructions. The same cautious counsel directed every step 
that lay before him and had prepared every inch of his 
road. 

The President asked why had he returned to France when 
he did and not sooner? 

He had not returned sooner, he replied, simply because 
he had no means of living in France, except those he had 
resigned; whereas, in England he lived by giving instruc¬ 
tion in the French language and literature. He had re¬ 
turned when he did, on the pressing and written entreaty 
of a French citizen, who represented that his life was en¬ 
dangered by his absence. He had come back to save a 
citizen’s life and to bear his testimony, at whatever per¬ 
sonal risk, to the truth. Was that criminal in the eyes 
of the republic? 

The populace cried enthusiastically, “No!” and the 
President rang his bell to quiet them; which it did not, for 
they continued to cry “No! ” until they stopped of their 
own will. 

The President required the name of that citizen. The 
accused explained that the citizen was his first witness. He 
also referred with confidence to the citizen’s letter, which 
had been taken from him at the barrier, but which he be¬ 
lieved would be found among the papers then before the 
President. 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


276 

The Doctor had taken care that it should be there — had 
assured him that it would be there — and at this stage of 
the proceedings it was produced and read. Citizen Gabelle 
was called to confirm it and did so. Citizen Gabelle hinted, 
with infinite delicacy and politeness, that in the pressure of 
business imposed on the tribunal by the multitude of ene¬ 
mies of the republic with which it had to deal, he had been 
slightly overlooked in his prison of the Abbaye — in fact, 
had rather passed out of the tribunal’s patriotic remem¬ 
brance— until three days ago, when he had been sum¬ 
moned before it and had been set at liberty on the jury’s 
declaring themselves satisfied that the accusation against 
him was answered by the surrender of the citizen Evre- 
monde, called Darnay. 

Doctor Manette was next questioned. His high personal 
popularity and the clearness of his answers made a great 
impression; but as he proceeded, as he showed that the 
accused was his first friend on his release from his long im¬ 
prisonment, that the accused had remained in England, 
always faithful and devoted to his daughter and himself in 
their exile; that, so far from being in favor with the aristo¬ 
cratic government there, he had actually been tried for his 
life by it as the foe of England and friend of the United 
States — as he brought these circumstances into view with 
the greatest discretion and with the^traightforward force of 
truth and earnestness, the jury and the populace became 
one. At last, when he appealed by name to Monsieur Lorry, 
an English gentleman then and there present, who like him¬ 
self had been a witness at that English trial and could 
corroborate his account of it, the jury declared that they 
had heard enough and that they were ready with their votes 
if the President were content to receive them. 

At every vote (the jurymen voted aloud and individually) 
the populace set up a shout of applause. All the voices 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 277 

were in the prisoner's favor, and the President declared 
him free. 

Then began one of those extraordinary scenes by which 
the people gratified their fickleness, or their better impulses 
towards generosity and mercy. No sooner was the acquittal 
pronounced than tears were shed as freely as blood at 
another time, and so many affectionate embraces were be¬ 
stowed upon the prisoner by as many of both sexes as could 
rush at him that after his long and unwholesome confine¬ 
ment he was in danger of fainting from exhaustion: none the 
less because he knew very well that the very same people, 
carried by another current, would have rushed at him with 
the very same intensity, to rend him to pieces and strew him 
over the streets. 

His removal, to make way for other accused persons who 
were to be tried, rescued him from these caresses for the 
moment. Five were to be tried next as enemies of the 
republic, because they had not assisted it by word or deed. 
These five came down to him before he left the place, con¬ 
demned to die within twenty-four hours. The first of them 
told him so, with the customary sign of Death — a raised 
finger — and they all added in words: 

“ Long live the Republic 1 ” 

The five had not had any audience for their trial; for 
when he and Doctor Manette went through the gate, there 
was a great crowd about it, in which there seemed to be 
every face he had seen in court — except two, for which 
he looked in vain. Defarge and his wife were not in sight. 
On his coming out, the concourse made at him anew, 
weeping, embracing, and shouting, all by turns and all to¬ 
gether, until the very tide of the river on the bank of which 
the mad scene was acted seemed to run mad, like the peqple 
on the shore. 

They put him into a great chair they had among them 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


278 

and which they had taken out of the court. Over the chair 
they had thrown a red flag, and to the back of it they had 
bound a pike with a red cap on its top. In this car of tri¬ 
umph, not even the Doctor’s entreaties could prevent his 
being carried to his home on men’s shoulders, with a con¬ 
fused sea of red caps heaving about him, and casting up to 
sight from the stormy deep such wrecks of faces, that some¬ 
times he felt as if he were in a tumbril on his way to the 
Guillotine. 

In wild dreamlike procession, embracing whom they met 
and pointing him out, they carried him on. Reddening the 
snowy streets with the prevailing republican color, in wind¬ 
ing and tramping through them, as they had reddened them 
below the snow with a deeper dye, they carried him thus 
into the courtyard of the building where he lived. Her 
father had gone on before, to prepare Lucie, and when her 
husband stood upon his feet, she dropped insensible in his 
arms. 

As he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head 
between his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears 
and her lips might come together unseen, a few of the people 
fell to dancing. Instantly, all the rest fell to dancing, and 
the courtyard overflowed with the Carmagnole. Then 
they elevated into the vacant chair a young woman from 
the crowd to be carried as the Goddess of Liberty, and then 
swelling and overflowing out into the adjacent streets, and 
along the river’s bank, and over the bridge, the Carmagnole 
absorbed them every one and whirled them away. 

After grasping the Doctor’s hand, as he stood victorious 
and proud before him, after grasping the hand of Mr. 
Lorry, who came panting in breathless from his struggle to 
get through the Carmagnole, after kissing little Lucie who 
was lifted up to clasp her arms around his neck, and after 
embracing the ever-zealous and faithful Pross who lifted 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 279 

her, he took his wife in his arms, and carried her up to their 
rooms. 

“Lucie! My own! I am safe.” 

“ Oh, dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my 
knees as I have prayed to him.” 

They all reverently bowed their heads and hearts. When 
she was again in his arms, he said to her: 

“ And now speak to your father, dearest. No other man 
in all this France could have done what he has done for me.” 

She laid her head upon her father’s breast, as she had 
laid his poor head on her breast, long, long ago. He was 
happy in the return he had made her. He was recompensed 
for his suffering; he was proud of his strength. 

“You must not be weak, my darling,” he remonstrated; 
“ don’t tremble so. I have saved him.” 


CHAPTER VII 
A KNOCK AT THE DOOR 

“ T HAVE saved him.” It was not another of the dreams 
JL in which he had often come back; he was really here. 
And yet his wife trembled, and a vague but heavy fear was 
upon her. 

The people were so passionately revengeful and fitful; the 
innocent were so constantly put to death on vague suspicion 
and black malice. It was so impossible to forget that many 
as blameless as her husband and as dear to others as he 
was to her every day shared the fate from which he had 
been clutched, that her heart could not be so lightened 
of its load as she felt it ought to be. The shadows of 
the wintry afternoon were beginning to fall, and even now 
the dreadful carts were rolling through the streets. Her 


280 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


mind pursued them, looking for him among the condemned; 
and then she clung closer to his real presence and trembled 
more. 

Her father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superi¬ 
ority to this woman’s weakness which was wonderful to see. 
No garret, no shoemaking, no One Hundred and Five, North 
Tower, now! He had accomplished the task he had set 
himself, his promise was redeemed, he had saved Charles. 
Let them all lean upon him. 

Their housekeeping was of a very frugal kind, not only 
because that was the safest way of life, involving the least 
offense to the people, but because they were not rich", and 
Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had had to pay 
heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards 
the living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, 
and partly to avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant. 
The citizen and citizeness who acted as porters at the court¬ 
yard gate rendered them occasional service; and Jerry 
(almost wholly transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had be¬ 
come their daily retainer, and had his bed there every 
night. 

It was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible 
of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, that on the 
door or doorpost of every house, the name of every inmate 
must be legibly printed in letters of a certain size, at 
a certain convenient height from the ground. Mr. 
Jerry Cruncher’s name, therefore, duly embellished the 
doorpost down below; and as the afternoon shadows deep¬ 
ened, the owner of that name himself appeared, from over¬ 
looking a painter whom Doctor Manette had employed to 
add to the list the name of Charles Evremonde, called 
Darnay. 

In the universal fear and distrust that darkened the 
time, all the usual harmless ways of life were changed. In 



Mr. Jerry Cruncher’s name duly embellished the doorpost below, 









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


282 

the Doctor’s little household, as in very many others, the 
articles of daily consumption were purchased every evening 
in small quantities and at various small shops. To avoid 
attracting notice, and to give as little occasion as possible for 
talk and envy, was the general desire. 

For some months past, Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher 
had done the buying for the family. Miss Pross carried 
the money and Jerry the basket. Every afternoon at about 
the time when the public lamps were lighted, they went forth 
on this duty and made and brought home such purchases as 
were needful. Although Miss Pross, through her long asso¬ 
ciation with a French family, might have known as much 
of their language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she 
had no mind in that direction; consequently she knew no 
more of that “ nonsense ” (as she was pleased to call it) than 
Mr. Cruncher did. So her manner of marketing was to 
plump a noun-substantive at the head of a shopkeeper 
without any introduction in the nature of an article, and 
if it happened not to be the name of the thing she wanted, 
to look round for that thing, lay hold of it, and hold on 
by it until the bargain was concluded. She always made 
a bargain for it, by holding up, as a statement of its just 
price, one finger less than the merchant held up, whatever 
his number might be. 

“ Now, Mr. Cruncher,” said Miss Pross, whose eyes were 
red with felicity; “ if you are ready, I am.” 

Jerry hoarsely professed himself at Miss Pross’s service. 
He had worn all his rust off long ago, but nothing would 
file his spiky head down. 

“ There’s all manner of things wanted,” said Miss Pross, 
“ and we shall have a precious time of it. We want wine, 
among the rest. Nice toasts these Redheads will be drink¬ 
ing, wherever we buy it.” 

“ It will be much the same thing to your knowledge, miss, 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 283 

I should think, whether they drink your health or the old 
un’s.” 

“ Who’s he? ” said Miss Pross. 

Mr. Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself 
as meaning “ Old Nick’s.” 

“ Ha! ” said Miss Pross, “ it doesn’t need an interpreter 
to explain the meaning of these creatures. They have but 
one, and it’s Midnight, Murder, and Mischief.” 

“ Hush, dear! Pray be cautious! ” cried Lucie. 

“Yes, yes, yes, I’ll be cautious,” said Miss Pross; “but 
I must say among ourselves, that I do hope there will be 
no oniony and tobaccoey smotherings in the form of em¬ 
bracings all round, going on in the streets. Now, Ladybird, 
never you stir from that fire till I come back! Take care 
of the dear husband you have recovered, and don’t move 
your pretty head from his shoulder as you have it now, till 
you see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, 
before I go? ” 

“ I think you may take that liberty,” the Doctor answered, 
smiling. 

“ For gracious sake, don’t talk about Liberty; we have 
quite enough of that,” said Miss Pross. 

“ Hush, dear! Again? ” Lucie remonstrated. 

“ Well, my sweet,” said Miss Pross, nodding her head em¬ 
phatically, “ the short and the long of it is that I am a sub¬ 
ject of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the 
Third; ” Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; “ and as such, 
my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knav¬ 
ish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King! ” 

Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly re¬ 
peated the words after Miss Pross, like somebody at church. 

“I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, 
though I wish you had never taken that cold in your voice,” 
said Miss Pross, approvingly. “ But the question, Doctor 


284 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Manette. Is there ” — it was the good creature’s way 
to pretend to make light of anything that was a great 
anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance man¬ 
ner — “ is there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this 
place ? ” 

“I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles 
yet.” 

“ Heigh-ho-hum! ” said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing 
a sigh as she glanced at her darling’s golden hair in the light 
of the fire, “ then we must have patience and wait; that’s 
all. We must hold up our heads and fight low, as my 
brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher! •— 
Don’t you move, Ladybird! ” 

They went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, 
and the child, by a bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected 
back presently from the banking house. Miss Pross had 
lighted the lamp, but had put it aside in a corner that they 
might enjoy the firelight undisturbed. Little Lucie sat 
by her grandfather with her hands clasped through his 
arm; and he, in a tone not rising much above a whisper, 
began to tell her a story of a great and powerful fairy 
who had opened a prison wall and let out a captive who 
had once done the fairy a service. All was subdued and* 
quiet, and Lucie was more at ease than she had been. 

“ What is that? ” she cried, all at once. 

“ My dear! ” said her father, stopping in his story and 
laying his hand on hers, “ command yourself. What a dis¬ 
ordered state you are in! The least thing — nothing — 
startles you! You, your father’s daughter! ” 

“ I thought, my father,” said Lucie, excusing herself, with 
a pale face, and in a faltering voice, “ that I heard strange 
feet upon the stairs.” 

“ My love, the staircase is as still as death.” 

As he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 285 

“Oh, father, father! What can this be! Hide Charles. 
Save him! ” 

“ My child,” said the Doctor, rising, and laying his hand 
upon her shoulder, “ I have saved him. What weakness is 
this, my dear! Let me go to the door.” 

He took the lamp in his hand, crossed the two intervening 
outer rooms, and opened it. A rude clattering of feet over 
the floor, and four rough men in red caps, armed with sabres 
and pistols, entered the room. 

“ The Citizen Evremonde, called Darnay,” said the first. 

“ Who seeks him ? ” answered Darnay. 

“I seek him. We seek him. I know you, Evremonde; 
I saw you before the tribunal today. You are again the 
prisoner of the republic.” 

The four surrounded him, where he stood with his wife 
and child clinging to him. 

“Tell me how and why am I again a prisoner? ” 

“ It is enough that you return straight to the Conciergerie 
and will know tomorrow. You are summoned for tomor¬ 
row.” 

Doctor Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into 
stone that he stood with the lamp in his hand as if he were 
a statue made to hold it, moved after these words were 
spoken, put the lamp down, and confronting the speaker, 
and taking him gently by the loose front of his red woolen 
shirt, said: 

“You know him, you have said. Do you know me?” 

“ Yes, I know you, Citizen Doctor.” 

“ We all know you, Citizen Doctor,” said the other three. 

He looked abstractedly from one to another, and said, in 
a lower voice, after a pause: 

“Will you answer his question to me, then? How does 
this happen ? ” 

“ Citizen Doctor,” said the first, reluctantly, “ he has been 


286 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

denounced to the section of Saint Antoine. This citizen/’ 
pointing out the second who had entered, “ is from Saint 
Antoine.” 

The citizen here indicated nodded his head and added: 

“ He is accused by Saint Antoine.” 

“ Of what ? ” asked the Doctor. 

“ Citizen Doctor,” said the first, with his former reluc¬ 
tance, “ask no more. If the republic demands sacrifices 
from you, without doubt you as a good patriot will be happy 
to make them. The republic goes before all. The people is 
supreme. Evremonde, we are pressed.” 

“ One word more,” the Doctor entreated. “ Will you tell 
me who denounced him ? ” 

“ It is against rule,” answered the first; “ but you can ask 
him of Saint Antoine here.” 

The Doctor turned his eyes upon that man, who moved 
uneasily on his feet, rubbed his beard a little, and at length 
said: 

“ Well! Truly it is against rule. But he is denounced — 
and gravely — by the Citizen and Citizeness Defarge, and 
by one other.” 

“What other?” 

“ Do you ask, Citizen Doctor ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then,” said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, 
“you will be answered tomorrow. Now, I am dumb! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 
A HAND AT CARDS 

H APPILY unconscious of the new calamity at home, 
Miss Pross threaded her way along the narrow streets 
and crossed the river by the bridge of the Pont-neuf, reckon- 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


287 

ing in her mind the number of purchases she had to make. 
Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at her side. They 
both looked to the right and to the left into most of the shops 
they passed, kept away from large crowds of people, and 
turned out of their road to avoid any very excited group 
of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river, 
blurred to the eye with blazing lights and to the ear with 
harsh noises, showed where the barges were stationed in 
which the smiths worked, making guns for the army of the 
republic. Woe to the man who played tricks with that 
army, or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him 
that his beard had never grown, for the National Razor 
shaved him close. 

Having purchased a few small articles of grocery and a 
measure of oil for the lamp, Miss Pross thought of the wine 
they wanted. After looking into several wine shops, she 
stopped at the sign of “ The Good Republican Brutus of 
Antiquity',” not far from the National Palace. 1 This wine 
shop had a quieter look than any other they had passed, 
and though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as the 
rest. Sounding Mr. Cruncher and finding him of her opin¬ 
ion, Miss Pross, resorted to the " Good Republican Brutus 
of Antiquity,” attended by her cavalier. 

As they were waiting at the counter while their wine was 
being measured out, a man parted from another man in a cor¬ 
ner and rose to depart. In going he had to face Miss Pross. 
No sooner did he face her than Miss Pross uttered a scream 
and clapped her hands. 

In a moment the whole company were on their feet. 
That somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating 
a difference of opinion was the likeliest occurrence. Every¬ 
body looked to see somebody fall, but only saw a man and 
woman standing staring at each other; the man with all the 
1 The Tuileries. 


288 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough republican; 
the woman, evidently English. 

What was said by the people in this wine shop, except 
that it was something very voluble and loud, would have 
been as so much Hebrew or Chaldean to Miss Pross and 
her protector, though they had been all ears. But they 
had no ears for anything in their surprise. For not only 
was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation but Mr. 
Cruncher was in a state of the greatest wonder, also. 

“ What is the matter ? ” said the man who had caused 
Miss Pross to scream, speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice 
(though in a low tone), and in English. 

“ Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon! ” cried Miss Pross, clap¬ 
ping her hands again. “After not setting eyes upon you 
or hearing of you for so long a time, do I find you here! ” 

“ Don’t call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death 
of me? ” asked the man, in a furtive, frightened way. 

“ Brother, brother! ” cried Miss Pross, beginning to cry. 
“ Have I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such 
a cruel question ? ” 

“ Then hold your meddlesome tongue, and come out, if 
you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine and come 
out. Who’s this man? ” 

Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her 
by no means affectionate brother, said through her tears, 
“ Mr. Cruncher.” 

“ Let him come out too. Does he think me a ghost? ” 

Apparently Mr. Cruncher did, to, judge from his looks. 
He said not a word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the 
depths of her bag through her tears with great difficulty, 
paid for her wine. As she did so, Solomon turned to the 
people in the wine shop and offered a few words of explana¬ 
tion in the French language, which caused them all to re¬ 
lapse* into their former places .and pursuits. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


289 


“ Now,” said Solomon, stopping at the dark street cor¬ 
ner, <e what do you want ? ” 

“ How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever 
turned my love away from! to give me such a greeting, and 
show me no affection.” 

“There. Confound it! There,” said Solomon, making 
a dab at Miss Pross’s lips with his own. “ Now are you 
content ? ” 

Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in sile'nce. 

“ If you expect me to be surprised, I am not surprised,” 
said her brother Solomon. “ I knew you were here. I know 
of most people who are here. If you really don’t want to 
endanger my existence — which I half believe you do — go 
your way as soon as possible, and let me go mine. I am 
busy. I am an official.” 

" My English brother Solomon,” mourned Miss Pross, 
casting up tearful eyes, “ that had the makings in him of one 
of the best and greatest of men in his native country, an offi¬ 
cial among foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost 
sooner have seen the dear boy lying in his — ” 

“ I said so,” said her brother, interrupting. “ I knew it. 
You want to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Sus¬ 
pected by my own sister just as I am getting on! ” 

“ The gracious and merciful heavens forbid! ” cried Miss 
Pross. “ Far rather would I never see you again, dear 
Solomon, though I have ever loved you truly and ever shall. 
Say but one affectionate word to me, and tell me there is 
nothing angry or estranged between us, and I will detain 
you no longer.” 

Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between 
them had come of any fault of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had 
not known it for a fact, years ago, in the quiet corner of 
Soho, that this precious brother had spent her money and 
left her! 


290 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


He was saying the affectionate word, however, with grudg¬ 
ing condescension, when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on 
the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the 
following singular question: 

“ I say! Might I ask the favor? As to whether your 
name is John Solomon, or Solomon John?” 

The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. 
He had not previously uttered a word. 

“ Come! ” said Mr. Cruncher. “ Speak out, you know.” 
(Which, by the way, was more than he could do himself.) 
“John Solomon, or Solomon John? She calls you Solo¬ 
mon, and she must know, being your sister. And I know 
you’re John, you know. Which of the two goes first? And 
regarding that name of Pross, likewise. That warn’t your 
name over the water.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, I don’t know all I mean, for I can’t call to mind 
what your name was, over the water.” 

“ No?” 

“ No. . But I’ll swear it was a name of two syllables.” 

“ Indeed? ” 

“Yes. T’other one’s was one syllable. I know you. You 
was a spy-witness at the Bailey. What, in the name of the 
Father of Lies, own father to yourself, was you called at that 
time ? ” 

“ Barsad,” said another voice, striking in. 

“ That’s the name for a thousand pound! ” cried Jerry. 

The speaker who struck in was Sydney Carton. He had 
his hands behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and 
he stood at Mr. Cruncher’s elbow as carelessly as he might 
have stood at the Old Bailey itself. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at 
Mr. Lorry’s, to his surprise, yesterday evening. We agreed 
that I should not present myself elsewhere until all was well, 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 291 

or unless I could be useful. I present myself here, to beg a 
little talk with your brother. I wish you had a better em¬ 
ployed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wish for your sake 
Mr. Barsad was not a sheep of the prisons.” 

“ Sheep ” was a cant word of the time for a spy under 
the jailors. The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked 
him how he dared — 

“ I’ll tell you,” said Sydney. “ I lighted on you, Mr. Bar¬ 
sad, coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was 
contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago. You have 
a face to be remembered, and I remember faces well. Made 
curious by seeing you in that connection, and having a 
reason for associating you with the misfortunes of a friend 
now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walked 
into the wine shop here, close after you, and sat near you. 
I had no difficulty in deducing from your unreserved con¬ 
versation and the rumor openly going about among your 
admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, after 
listening to your conversation, what I had done at random, in 
following you, seemed to shape itself into a purpose for me, 
Mr. Barsad.” 

“ What purpose? ” the spy asked. 

“ It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to 
explain in the street. Could you favor me, in confidence, 
with some minutes of your company — at the office of Tell- 
son’s Bank, for instance? ” 

“ Under a threat? ” 

“Oh! Did I say that?” 

“ Then why should I go there ? ” 

“ Really, Mr. Barsad, I can’t say, if you can’t.” 

“ Do you mean that you won’t say, sir? ” the spy irreso¬ 
lutely asked. 

“ You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won’t.” 
Carton’s negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully 


292 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

in aid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had 
in his secret mind, and with such a man as he had to do 
with. His practised eye saw it, and made the most of it. 

“ Now, I told you so,” said the spy, casting a reproachful 
look at his sister; “ if any trouble comes of this, it’s your 
doing.” 

“ Come, come, Mr. Barsad! ” exclaimed Sydney. “ Don’t 
be ungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I 
might not have led up so pleasantly to a little proposal 
that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do you 
go with me to the bank ? ” 

“ Ill hear what you have got to say. Yes, I’ll go with 
you.” 

“ I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the 
corner of her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss 
Pross. This is not a good city, at this time, for you to be 
out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, 
I will invite him to Mr. Lorry’s with us. Are we ready? 
Come then! ” 

Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her 
life remembered, that-as she pressed her hands on Sydneys 
arm, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a 
braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the 
eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner but 
changed and raised the man. She was too much occupied 
then with fears for the brother who so little deserved her 
affection and with Sydney’s friendly reassurances to heed 
what she observed. 

They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led 
the way to Mr. Lorry’s which was within a few minutes’ 
walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side. 

Mr. Lorry nad just finished his dinner, and was sitting 
before a cheery little log or two of fire — perhaps looking 
into their blaze for the picture of that younger elderly 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


293 


gentleman from Tellson’s, who had looked into the red coals 
at the Royal George at Dover, seventeen years ago. He 
turned his head as they entered, and showed the surprise 
with which he saw a stranger. 

“ Miss Pross’s brother, sir,” said Sydney. “ Mr. Barsad.” 

“ Barsad ? ” repeated the old gentleman, “ Barsad ? I 
have an association with the name — and with the face.” 

“ I told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad,” 
observed Carton, coolly. “ Pray sit down.” 

As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link that 
Mr. Lorry wanted, by saying to him with a frown: 

“ Witness at that trial.” 

Mr. Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his 
new visitor with a look of abhorrence. 

“ Mr. Barsad has been recognized by Miss Pross as the 
affectionate brother you have heard of,” said Sydney, “ and 
has acknowledged the relationship. I pass to worse news. 
Darnay has been arrested again.” 

Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed: 

“ What do you tell me! I left him safe and free within 
these two hours and am about to return to him! ” 

“ Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad? ” 

“ Just now, if at all.” 

“ Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, and I under¬ 
stand from Mr. Barsad’s conversation to a friend and 
brother sheep over a bottle of wine that the arrest has taken 
place. He left the messengers at the gate, and saw them 
admitted by the porter. There is no earthly doubt that 
he is retaken.” 

Mr. Lorry’s business eye read in the speaker’s face that 
it was loss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, 
but sensible that something might depend on his pres¬ 
ence of mind, he commanded himself, and was silently 
attentive. 


294 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Now, I trust,” said Sydney, “ that the name and influ¬ 
ence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to¬ 
morrow— you said he would be before the tribunal again 
tomorrow, Mr. Barsad? — ” 

“ Yes, I believe so.” 

“ — In as good stead tomorrow as today. But it may 
not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor 
Manette’s not having had the power to prevent this arrest.” 

“ He may not have known of it beforehand,” said Mr. 
Lorry. 

“ But that very circumstance would be alarming, when 
we remember how identified he is with his son-in-law.” 

“ That’s true,” Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled 
hand at his chin and his troubled eyes on Carton. 

“ In short,” said Sydney, “ this is a desperate time, when 
desperate games are played for desperate stakes. Let the 
Doctor play the winning game; I will play the losing one. 
No man’s life here is worth purchase. Any one carried home 
by the people today may be condemned tomorrow. Now 
the stake I have resolved to play for, in case of the worst, 
is a friend in the Conciergerie. And the friend I purpose 
to myself to win, is Mr. Barsad.” 

“ You need have good cards, sir,” said the spy. 

“ I’ll run them over. I’ll see what I hold. — Mr. Lorry, 
you know what a brute I am; I wish you’d give me a little 
brandy.” 

It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful — 
drank off another glassful — pushed the bottle thoughtfully 
away. 

“ Mr. Barsad,” he went on, in the tone of one who really 
was looking over a hand at cards, “ sheep of the prisons, 
emissary of republican committees, now turnkey, now pris¬ 
oner, always spy and secret informer, so much the more 
valuable for being English that an Englishman is less open 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 295 

to suspicion than a Frenchman, represents himself to his 
employers under a false name. That’s a very good card. 
Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican French 
government, was formerly in the employ of the aristocratic 
English government, the enemy of France and freedom. 
That’s an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this re¬ 
gion of suspicion that Mr. Barsad, still in the employ of the 
aristocratic English government, is the agent of all mis¬ 
chief, the treacherous foe of the republic crouching in its 
bosom, so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That’s 
a card not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. 
Barsad? ” 

“ Not to understand your play,” returned the spy, some¬ 
what uneasily. 

“ I Play my ace, denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest 
section committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and 
see what you have. Don’t hurry.” 

He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of 
brandy, and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful 
of his drinking himself into a fit state for the denuncia¬ 
tion of him. Seeing it, he poured out and drank another 
glassful. 

“Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take 
time.” 

It was a poorer hand than Sydney Carton suspected. Mr. 
Barsad saw losing cards in it that Sydney Carton knew 
nothing of. Thrown out of his employment in England, 
through too much unsuccessful hard swearing — not be¬ 
cause he was not wanted there; our English reasons for 
vaunting our superiority to secrecy and spies are of very 
^nodern date — he knew that he had crossed the Channel 
and accepted service in France, first as a tempter and an 
eavesdropper among his own countrymen there, gradually 
as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the French people. 


'296 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

He knew that under the overthrown government he had been 
a spy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge’s wine shop. He 
always remembered with fear and trembling that that ter¬ 
rible woman had knitted when he talked with her and had 
looked ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had 
since seen her produce her knitted registers and denounce 
people whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. 
He knew that he was never safe; that flight was impossible, 
that he was tied fast under the shadow of the axe, that in 
this reign of terror a word might bring it down upon him. 
Once denounced, he foresaw that the dreadful woman would 
produce against him that fatal register and quash his last 
chance of life. Besides that all secret men are men soon 
terrified; here were surely cards enough of one black suit 
to make the holder of them grow rather pale as he turned 
them over. 

“ You scarcely seem to like your hand,” said Sydney, with 
the greatest composure. “ Do you play ? ” 

“ I think, sir,” said the spy, turning to t Mr. Lorry, “ I may 
appeal to a gentleman of your years and benevolence to put 
.it to this other gentleman whether he can do such a thing 
as to play that ace of which he has spoken. I admit that I 
am a spy, but he is no spy, and why should he so demean 
himself as to make himself one ? ” 

“ I play my ace, Mr. Barsad,” said Carton, looking at 
his watch, “ in a very few minutes.” 

“ I should have hoped, gentlemen both, that your respect 
for my sister — ” 

“ I could not show my respect for your sister any better 
than by finally relieving her of her brother,” said Sydney 
Carton. / 

“ You think not? ” 

“ I have thoroughly made up my mind about it.” 

The smooth manner of the spy received such a check from 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 297“ 

the inscrutability of Carton that he did not know what to 
say. While he was at a loss Carton said, resuming his for¬ 
mer manner of looking over cards: 

“ And indeed, now I think again, I have a strong impres¬ 
sion that I have another good card here. That friend and 
fellow-sheep you were talking to in the wine shop, who 
spoke of himself as pasturing in the country prisons — 
who was he ? ” 

“ French. You don’t know him,” said the spy quickly. 

“ French, eh?” repeated Carton, musing, and not ap¬ 
pearing to notice him at all, though he echoed his word. 

“ Well, he may be.” 

“ Is, I assure you,” said the spy, “ though it’s not im¬ 
portant.” 

“ Though it’s not important,” repeated Carton, in the 
same mechanical way — “ though it’s not important— No, 
it’s not important. No. Yet I know the face.” 

“I think not. I am sure not. It can’t be,” said the 

spy- 

“ It — can’t — be,” muttered Sydney Carton, retrospec¬ 
tively, and filling his glass (which fortunately was a small 
one) again. “Can’t — be. Spoke good French. Yet like 
a foreigner, I thought ? ” 

“ Provincial,” said the spy. 

“No. Foreign! ” cried Carton, striking his open hand 
on the table, as a light broke clearly on his mind. “ Cly! 
Disguised, but the same man. We had that man before 
us at the Old Bailey.” 

“ Now, there you are hasty, sir,” said Barsad, with a smile 
that gave his aquiline nose an extra inclination to one 
side; “there you really give me an advantage over you. 
Cly .(who I will admit was a partner of mine) has been 
dead several years. I attended him in his last illness. He 
was buried in London, at the Church of Saint Pancras-in- 


298 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

the-Fields. His unpopularity with the blackguard multitude 
prevented my following his remains to the cemetery, but 
I helped to lay him in his coffin.” 

Here Mr. Lorry became aware of a most remarkable 
goblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he dis¬ 
covered it to be caused by a sudden extraordinary rising and 
stiffening of all the risen and stiff hair on Mr. Cruncher’s 
head. 

“ Let us be reasonable,” said the spy, “ and let us be 
fair. To show you how mistaken you are, I will lay before 
you a certificate of Cly’s burial, which I happen to have 
carried in my pocketbook ever since.” With a hurried 
hand he produced and opened it. 

“ There it is. Oh, look at it; look at it! You may take 
it in your hand; it’s no forgery.” 

Here Mr. Lorry perceived the reflection on the wall to 
elongate, and Mr. Cruncher rose and stepped forward. 
His hair could not have been more violently on end if it had 
been that moment dressed by the Cow with the crumpled 
horn in the house that Jack built. 

Unseen by the spy, Mr. Cruncher stood at his side and 
touched him on the shoulder like a ghostly bailiff. 

“ That there Roger Cly, master,” said Mr. Cruncher, with 
a taciturn and iron-bound visage. “ So you put him in his 
coffin? ” 

“ I did.” 

“ Who took him out of it ? ” 

Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, “ What 
do you mean? ” 

“ I mean that he warn’t never in it. No! Not he! I’ll 
have my head took off, if he was ever in it.” 

The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both 
looked in unspeakable astonishment at Jerry. 

“ I tell you that you buried paving-stones and earth in 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 299 

that there coffin. Don’t go and tell me that you buried 
Cly. It was a take-in. Me and two more knows it.” 

“ How do you know it ? ” 

“ What’s that to you ? Ecod! ” growled Mr. Cruncher. 
“ It’s you I have got a old grudge again’, is it, with your 
shameful impositions upon tradesmen! I’d catch hold of 
your throat and choke you for half a guinea.” 

Sydney Carton, who with Mr. Lorry had been lost in 
amazement at this turn in the business, here requested Mr. 
Cruncher to explain himself. 

“ At another time, sir, — the present time is ill-conwenient 
for explainin’. What I stand to, is, that he knows well wot 
that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say 
he was, in so much as a word of one syllable, and I’lk either 
catch hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea, or 
I’ll out and announce him.” 

“ Humph! I see one thing,” said Carton. “ I hold 
another card, Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging 
Paris, with suspicion filling the air, for you to outlive de¬ 
nunciation when you are in communication with another 
aristocratic spy who has the mystery about him of having 
feigned death and come to life again! A plot in the pris¬ 
ons, of the foreigner against the republic. A strong card 
— a certain guillotine card! Do you play ? ” 

“ No! ” returned the spy. “ I give up. I confess that we 
were so unpopular with the outrageous mob that I only got 
away from England at the risk of being ducked to death 
and that Cly was so ferreted up and down that he never 
would have got away at all but for that sham. Though how 
this man knows it was a sham is a wonder of wonders 
to me.” 

“ Never you trouble your head about this man,” retorted 
Mr. Cruncher; “you’ll have trouble enough with giving 
your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once 


300 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


more! — I’d catch hold of your throat and choke you for 
half a guinea.” 

The sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney 
Carton, and said with more decision, “ It has come to a 
point. I go on duty soon, and can’t overstay my time. You 
told me you had a proposal; what is it? Now, it is of no 
use asking too much of me. If you ask me to put my head 
in great extra danger, I had better trust my life to the 
chances of a refusal. In short I should make that choice. 
You talk of desperation. We are all desperate here. Re¬ 
member! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can 
swear my way through stone walls, and so can others. 
Now what do you want with me? ” 

“ Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Con- 
ciergerie ? ” 

“ I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an es¬ 
cape possible,” said the spy firmly. 

“Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You 
are a turnkey at the Conciergerie ? ” 

“ I am sometimes.” 

“You can be when you choose?” 

“ I can pass in and out when I choose.” 

Sydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured 
it slowly out upon the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. 
It being all spent, he said, rising: 

“ So far, we have spoken before these two, because it was 
as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely be¬ 
tween you and me. Come into the dark room here, and 
let us have one final word alone.” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


301 


CHAPTER IX 
THE GAME MADE 

W HILE Sydney Carton and the sheep of the prisons 
were in the adjoining dark room, speaking so low 
that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked at Jerry in 
doubt and mistrust. 

“ Jerry, come here.” 

Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his 
shoulders in advance of him. 

“ What have you been, besides a messenger ? ” 

After some cogitation Mr. Cruncher replied: 

" Agricultooral character.” 

“ My mind misgives me much,” said Mr. Lorry, angrily 
shaking a forefinger at him, “ that you have used the re¬ 
spectable and great house of Tellson’s as a blind and that 
you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous de¬ 
scription. If you have, don’t expect me to keep your 
secret. Tellson’s shall not be imposed upon.” 

“ I hope, sir,” pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, “ that 
a gentleman wot I’ve had the honor of odd jobbing till 
I’m grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, 
even if it wos so — I don’t say it is, but even if it wos. 
It wouldn’t then be all o’ one side. There’d be two sides 
to it. There might be medical doctors apicking up their 
guineas where a honest tradesman don’t pick up his fardens 
— fardens! no, nor yet his half fardens — half fardens! 
no, nor yet his quarters — abanking away like smoke at 
Tellson’s, and acocking their medical eyes at that trades¬ 
man on the sly, agoing in and out to their own carriages — 
ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that ’ud be 
imposing, too, on Tellson’s. For you cannot sarse the 
goose and not the gander. And here’s Mrs. Cruncher 


302 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


afloppin’ again’ the business to that degree as is ruinatin’ — 
stark ruinatin’ ! Whereas them medical doctors’ wives don’t 
flop — catch ’em at it — or, if they flop, their floppings goes 
in favor of more patients. Then wot with undertakers, 
and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot 
with private watchmen (all awaricious and all in it), a man 
wouldn’t get much by it, even if it was so. And wot little 
a man did get would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. 
He’d never have no good of it; he’d want all along to be 
out of the line, if he could see his way out, being once in — 
even if it wos so.” 

“ Ugh! ” cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless, 
“ I am shocked at the sight of you.” 

“ Now what I would humbly offer to you, sir, even if it 
wos so, which I don’t say it is — ” 

“ Don’t prevaricate,” said Mr. Lorry. 

“ No. I will not, sir — wot I would humbly offer to you, 
sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there bar, 
sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be 
a man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job 
you, till your heels is where your head is, if such should 
be your wishes. If it wos so, which I still don’t say it is, 
let that there boy keep his father’s place, and take care of 
his mother. Don’t blow upon that boy’s father —do not 
do it, sir —and let that father go into the line of the 
reg’lar diggin’, and make amends for what he would have 
undug —if it wos so —by diggin’ of ’em in with a will, 
and with conwictions respectin’ the future keepin’ of ’em 
safe. That, Mr. Lorry,” said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his 
forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he had 
arrived at the conclusion of his discourse, “ is wot I would 
respectfully offer to you, sir. A man don’t see all this here 
agoin’ on dreadful round him, in the way of subjects without 
heads, dear me, plentiful enough fur to bring the price 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


303 


down to porterage and hardly that, without havin' his. 
serious thoughts of things. And these here would be mine, 
if it wos so, entreatin’ of you fur to bear in mind that wot 
I said just now, I up and said in the good of the cause 
when I might have kep’ it back.” 

“ That at least is true,” said Mr. Lorry. “ Say no more 
now. It may be that I shall yet stand your friend, if you 
deserve it, and repent in action — not in words. I want 
no more words.” 

Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead as Sydney Carton 
and the spy returned from the dark room. “ Adieu, Mr. 
Barsad,” said the former; “ our arrangement thus made, you 
have nothing to fear from me.” 

He sat down in a chair near the hearth by Mr. Lorry. 
When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had 
done. 

“ Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have 
ensured access to him once.” 

Mr. Lorry’s countenance fell. 

“ It is all I could do. To propose too much would be to 
put this man’s head under the axe, and as he himself said, 
nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. 
There is no help for it.” 

“ But access to him, if it should go ill before the tribunal, 
will not save him.” 

“ I never said it would.” 

Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire. His sympa¬ 
thy with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of this 
second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old 
man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears 
fell. 

“ You are a good man and a true friend,” said Carton, 
in an altered voice. “ Forgive me if I notice that you are 
affected. I could not see my father weep and sit by, careless. 


304 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


And I could not respect your sorrow more if you were my 
father. You are free from that misfortune, however.” 

Though he said the last words with a slip into his usual 
manner, there was true feeling and respect, both in his 
tone and in his touch, that Mr. Lorry was wholly unpre¬ 
pared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently 
pressed it. 

“ To return to poor Darnay,” said Carton. “ Don’t tell 
Her of this interview, or this arrangement with the spy. 
It would not enable her to go to see him. She might think 
it was contrived, in case of the worst, to convey to him the 
means of anticipating the sentence.” 

Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly 
at Carton to see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he 
returned the look, and evidently understood it. 

“ She might think a thousand things,” Carton said, “ and 
any of them would only add to her trouble. Don’t speak of 
me to her. As I said to you when I first came yesterday, I 
had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any 
little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, 
without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be 
very desolate- tonight.” 

“ I am going now, directly.” 

“ I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment 
to you and reliance on you. How does she look ? ” 

“ Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.” 

“Ah! ” 

It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh — almost like 
a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry’s eyes to Carton’s face, 
which was turned to the fire. A light, or shade (the old 
gentleman could not have said which) passed from it 
swiftly, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little 
flaming logs which was tumbling forward. He wore a white 
riding-coat and topboots, and the light of the fire touching 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


305 


their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long 
brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His 
indifference to fire brought a word of remonstrance from 
Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the 
flaming log, where it had broken under the weight of his 
boot. 

“ I forgot it,” he said. 

Mr. Lorry’s eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking 
note of the wasted air which clouded the naturally hand¬ 
some features and having the expression of prisoners’ faces 
fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of that ex¬ 
pression. 

“ And your duties here have come to an end, sir ? ” said 
Carton, turning to him. 

“ Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came 
in so unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do 
here. I hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and 
then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to Pass. I 
was ready to go.” 

They were both silent. 

“ Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir,” said Carton, 
wistfully. 

“ I am in my seventy-eighth year.” 

“You have been useful all your life; steadily and con¬ 
stantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to? ” 

“ I have been a man of business ever since I have been 
a man. Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business 
when a boy.” 

“ See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many 
people will miss you when you leave it empty! ” 

“ A solitary old bachelor,” answered Mr. Lorry, shaking 
his head. " There is nobody to weep for me.” 

“How can you say that? Wouldn’t She weep for you? 
Wouldn’t her child? ” 


306 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Yes, yes, thank God. I didn’t quite mean what I said.” 

“ It is a thing to thank God for, is it not ? ” 

“ Surely, surely.” 

“ If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart 
tonight, ‘ I have secured to myself the love and attachment, 
the gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won 
myself a tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good 
or serviceable to be remembered by! ’ your seventy-eight 
years would be seventy-eight heavy curses, would they 
not?” 

“You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.” 

Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and after a 
silence of a few minutes said: 

“ I should like to ask you — Does your childhood seem 
far off? Do the days when you sat at your mother’s knee 
seem days of very long ago ? ” 

Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered: 

“Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. 
For as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the 
circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be 
one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My 
heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had 
long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old), 
and by many associations of the days when what we call the 
‘ World ’ was not so real with me, and my faults were not 
confirmed in me.” 

“I understand the feeling! ” exclaimed Carton, with a 
bright flush. “ And you are better for it? ” 

“ I hope so.” 

Carton terminated the conversation here by rising to 
help him on with his outer coat. “But you,” said Mr. 
Lorry, reverting to the theme, “ you are young.” 

“Yes. I am not old, but my young way was never the 
way to age. Enough of me.” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 307 

“ And of me, I am sure,” said Mr. Lorry. “ Are you going 
out ? ” 

“ I’U walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond 
and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a 
long time, don’t be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. 
You go to the court tomorrow? ” 

“ Yes, unhappily.” 

“ I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My spy 
will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.” 

Mr. Lorry did so, and they went downstairs and out in the 
streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry’s desti¬ 
nation. Carton left him there, but lingered at a little dis¬ 
tance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut 
and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison 
every day. 

“ She came out here,” he said, looking about him, “ turned 
this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me 
follow in her steps.” 

It was ten o’clock at night when he stood before the 
prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. 
A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking 
his pipe at his shop-door. 

“ Good night, citizen,” said Sydney Carton, pausing in 
going by; for the man eyed him inquisitively. 

“ Good night, citizen.” 

“ How goes the republic ? ” 

“You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three today. 
We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men 
complain sometimes of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He 
is so droll, that Samson. Such a barber! ” 

“ Do you often go to see him ? ” 

“ Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You 
have seen him at work ? ” 

“ Never.” 


308 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this 
to yourself, citizen; he shaved the sixty-three today, in less 
than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honor! ” 

As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smok¬ 
ing, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so 
sensible of a desire to strike the life out of him, that he 
turned away. 

“ But you are not English,” said the wood-sawyer, 
“ though you wear English dress ? ” 

“Yes,” said Carton, pausing again, and answering over 
his shoulder. 

“ You speak like a Frenchman.” 

“ I am an old student here.” 

“ Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.” 

“ Good night, citizen.” 

“ But go and see that droll dog,” the little man persisted, 
calling after him. “And take a pipe with you! ” 

Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in 
the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp and 
wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then traversing 
with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, 
several dark and dirty streets — much dirtier than usual, 
for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in 
those times of terror — he stopped at a chemist's shop, 
which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, 
dim, crooked shop, kept in a winding, up-hill thoroughfare, 
by a small, dim, crooked man. 

Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him 
at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. 

“ Whew! ” the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. 
“ For you, citizen? ” 

“ For me.” 

“You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? 
You know the consequences of mixing them?” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 309 

“ Perfectly.” 

Certain small packets were made and given to him. 
He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, 
counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the 
shop. 

11 There is nothing more to do,” he said, glancing upward 
at the moon, “ until tomorrow. I can’t sleep.” 

It was not a reckless manner in which he said these words 
aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more ex¬ 
pressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled 
manner of a tired man who had wandered and struggled and 
got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw 
its end. 

Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest 
competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed 
his father to the grave. His mother had died, years be¬ 
fore. These solemn words which had been read at his 
father’s grave arose in his mind as he went down the dark 
streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the 
clouds sailing on high above him. 

“ I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in 
me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever 
liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.” 

In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with 
natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had 
been that day put to death and for tomorrow’s victims 
then ^awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to¬ 
morrow’s and tomorrow’s, the chain of association that 
brought the words home to him might have been easily 
found. He did not seek it but repeated them and went 
on. 

With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where 
the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm 
hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the 


310 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


churches where no prayers were said; 1 in the distant burial 
places; in the abounding jails; and in the streets along 
which the sixties rolled to death; with a solemn interest in 
the whole life and death of a city settling down to its short 
nightly pause in fury, Sydney Carton crossed the Seine 
again for the lighter streets. 

Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were lia¬ 
ble to be suspected, and gentility hid its head in red night¬ 
caps, put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But the theatres 
were all well filled, an$ the people poured cheerfully out 
as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre 
doors there was a little girl with her mother, looking for a 
way across the street through the mud. He carried the 
child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his 
neck asked her for a kiss. 

“ I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he 
that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never 
die.” 

Now that the streets were quiet and the night wore on, 
the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the 
air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated 
them to himself as he walked; but he heard them always. 

The night wore out, and as he stood upon the bridge 
listening to the water as it splashed the river walls of the 
island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses 
and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the 
day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. 
Then the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and 
died, and for a little while it seemed as if creation were 
delivered over to Death’s dominion. 

But the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, 

1 Religion was expelled from the churches in 1793-1794, and an 
“age of reason” was declared. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 311 

that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart 
in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with rev¬ 
erently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the 
air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled un¬ 
der it. 

The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like 
a congenial friend in the morning stillness. He walked by 
the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and 
warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke 
and was on foot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, 
watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until 
the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea. 

— “ Like me! ” 

A trading boat, with a sail of the softened color of a dead 
leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. 
As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer 
that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consider¬ 
ation of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the 
words, “ I am the resurrection and the life.” 

Mr. Lorry was already out when he returned to the bank, 
and it was easy to surmise where the good old man had 
gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate 
some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh 
himself, went out to the place of trial. 

The court was all astir and abuzz, when the black sheep 

— whom many fell away from in dread — pressed him into 
an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, 
and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting 
beside her father. 

When her husband was brought in, she turned a look 
upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring 
love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, 
that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his 
glance, and animated his heart. No one noticed it, but the 


312 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

influence of her look had exactly the same effect on Sydney 
Carton. 

Before that unjust tribunal, there was scarcely any chance 
of an accused person getting a reasonable hearing. Every 
eye was turned to the jury. It was composed of life- 
thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded jurymen; the 
whole jury, as a jury of dogs selected to try the deer. 

Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public 
prosecutor. No favorable leaning in that quarter today. 
A fell, uncompromising, murderous business meaning there. 
Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd and 
gleamed at it approvingly, and heads nodded at one another 
before bending forward with a strained attention. 

Charles Evremonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. 
Re-accused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered 
to him last night. Suspected and denounced enemy of the 
republic, aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a 
race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished 
privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles 
Evremonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, 
absolutely dead in law. 

To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the public prose¬ 
cutor. 

The President asked, was the accused openly denounced 
or secretly? 

“ Openly, President.” 

“ By whom?” 

“ Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine vendor of Saint 
Antoine.” 

“ Good.” 

“ Therese Defarge, his wife.” 

“ Good.” 

“Alexandre Manette, physician.” 

A great uproar took place in the court; and in the midst 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 313 

of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, stand¬ 
ing where he had been seated. 

“President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a 
forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the hus¬ 
band of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, 
are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the 
false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of 
my child ? ” 

“ Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission 
to the authority of the tribunal would be to put yourself 
out of law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing 
can be so dear to a good citizen as the republic.” 

Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President 
rang his bell, and with warmth resumed. 

“ If the republic should demand of you the sacrifice of 
your child herself you would have no duty but to sacrifice 
her. Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be 
silent! ” 

Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Ma¬ 
nette sat down, with his eyes looking around, and his lips 
trembling; his daughter drew closer to him. 

Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough 
to admit of his being heard, and rapidly told the story of 
the imprisonment of Doctor Manette, of his having been 
a mere boy in the Doctor’s service, of the release in 1775, 
and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered 
to him. This short examination followed, for the court was 
quick with its work. 

“ You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, cit¬ 
izen? ” 

“ I believe so.” 

Here an excited woman screeched from the crowd: 

“ You were one of the best patriots there. Why not say 
so? You were a cannoneer that day there, and you were 


314 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. 
Patriots, I speak the truth! ” 

It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commenda¬ 
tions of the audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The 
President rang his bell; but The Vengeance, warming with 
encouragement, shrieked: 

“ I defy that bell! ” wherein she was likewise much com¬ 
mended. 

“ Inform the tribunal of what you did that day within 
the Bastille, citizen.” 

“ I knew,” said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who 
stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, 
looking steadily up at him; “ I knew that this prisoner, 
of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as 
One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from 
himself. He knew himself by no other name than One 
Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he made shoes 
under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when 
the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount 
to the cell, with a fellow citizen who is one of the jury, 
directed by a jailor. I examine it very closely. In a hole 
in the chimney where a stone has been worked out and 
replaced, I find a written paper. This is that written 
paper. I have made it my business to examine some 
specimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is 
the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, 
in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the 
President.” 

“ Let it be read.” 

In a dead silence and stillness — the prisoner under trial 
looking lovingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to 
look with solicitude at her father, Doctor Manette keeping 
his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking 
hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his from his 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 315 

feasting wife, and all the other eyes there intent upon the 
Doctor, who saw none of them — the paper was read as 
follows. 



CHAPTER X 

THE SUBSTANCE OF THE SHADOW 

“ X ALEXANDRE MANETTE, unfortunate physician, 
X j native of Beauvais, and afterwards resident of Paris, 
write this melancholy paper in my doleful cell in the Bas¬ 
tille, during the last month of the year 1767. I write it at 
stolen intervals under every difficulty. I design to secrete it 
in the wall of the chimney, where I have slowly and 
laboriously made a place of concealment for it. Some pity¬ 
ing hand may find it there, when I and my sorrows are dust. 

“ These words are formed by the rusty iron point with 
which I write with difficulty in scrapings of soot and charcoal 
from the chimney, mixed with blood, in the last month of the 
tenth year of my captivity. Hope has quite departed from 
my breast. I know from terrible warnings I have noted in 














316 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

myself that my reason will not long remain unimpaired, but 
I solemnly declare that I am at this time in the possession 
of my right mind — that my memory is exact and circum¬ 
stantial — and that I write the truth as I shall answer for 
these my last recorded words, whether they be ever read 
by men or not, at the Eternal Judgment Seat. 

“ One cloudy moonlight night, in the third week of De¬ 
cember (I think the twenty-second of the month) in the 
year 1757, I was walking on a retired part of the quay by 
the Seine for the refreshment of the frosty air, at an hour’s 
distance from my place of residence, when a carriage came 
along behind me, driven very fast.” 

This manuscript of Doctor Manette’s was a description 
of his experience with the Evremonde brothers who had 
caused him to be imprisoned in the Bastille. It told all the 
particulars as they have been given in the beginning of this 
story. At the end he had written these words: 

“ If it had pleased God to put in the hard heart of either 
of these brothers, in all these frightful years, to grant me 
any tidings of my dearest wife — so much as to let me know 
by a word whether alive or dead — I might have thought 
that He had not quite abandoned them. But now I believe 
that the mark of the red cross is fatal to them and that they 
have no part in His mercies. And them and their descend¬ 
ants, to the last of their race, I, Alexandre Manette, unhappy 
prisoner, do this last night of the year 1767, in my unbear¬ 
able agony, denounce to the times when all these things 
shall be answered for. I denounce them to Heaven and to 
earth.” 

A terrible sound arose when the reading of this document 
was done. A sound of craving and eagerness that had noth¬ 
ing articulate in it but blood. The narrative called up the 
most revengeful passions of the time, and there was not 
a head in the nation but must have dropped before it. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


317 


Little need, in presence of that tribunal and that audience, 
to show how the Defarges had not made the paper public, 
with the other captured Bastille memorials borne in pro¬ 
cession, and had kept it, biding their time. Little need 
to show that this detested family name had long been cursed 
by Saint Antoine, and was wrought into the fatal register. 
The man never trod ground whose virtues and services 
would have saved him in that place that day against such 
denunciation. 

And all the worse for the doomed man, that the denun¬ 
ciator was a well-known citizen, his own attached friend, 
the father of his wife. When the President said (else had 
his own head quivered on his shoulders), that the great 
physician of the republic would deserve better still of the 
republic by rooting out an obnoxious family of aristocrats 
and would doubtless feel a sacred glow and joy in making 
his daughter a widow and her. child an orphan, there was 
wild excitement, patriotic fervor, not a touch of human 
sympathy. 

“ Much influence around him, has that Doctor ? ” mur¬ 
mured Madame Defarge, smiling to The Vengeance. “ Save 
him now, my Doctor, save him! ” 

At every juryman’s vote, there was a roar. Another and 
another. Roar and roar. Unanimously voted. At heart 
and by descent an aristocrat, an enemy of the republic, a 
notorious oppressor of the people. Back to the Conciergerie, 
and death within four-and-twenty hours! 


318 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER XI 
DUSK 

T HE wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to 
die fell under the sentence, as if she had been mortally 
stricken. But she uttered no sound; and so strong was the 
voice within her, representing that it was she of all the world 
who must uphold him in his misery and not increase it, that 
it quickly raised her, even from that shock. 

The judges having to take part in a public demonstration 
out of doors, the tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and 
movement of the people going out had not ceased, when 
Lucie stood stretching out her arms towards her husband, 
with nothing in her face but love and consolation. 

“ If I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! 
Oh, good citizens, if you would have so much compassion for 
us! ” 

There was but a jailor left, along with two of the four 
men who had taken him last night, and Barsad. The people 
had all poured out to the show in the streets. Barsad pro¬ 
posed to the rest, “ Let her embrace him then; it is but a 
moment.” It was silently agreed to, and they passed her 
over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by 
leaning over the dock, could fold her in his arms. 

“ Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing 
on my love. We shall meet again, where the weary are at 
rest! ” 

They were her husband’s words, as he held her to him. 

“ I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from 
above: don’t suffer for me. A parting blessing for our 
child.” 

“ I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say fare¬ 
well to her by you.” 



THE TRACK OF A STORM 319 

“ My husband. No! A moment!” He was tearing 
himself apart from her. “ We shall not be separated long. 

I feel that this will break my heart by and by; but I will 
do my duty while I can; and when I leave her, God will 
raise up friends for her, as He did for me.” 

Her father had followed her, and would have fallen on his 
knees to both of them, but that Darnay put out a hand 
and seized him, crying: 

“ No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that 
you should kneel to us! We know now, what a struggle 
you made of old. We know now what you underwent when 
you suspected my descent, and when you knew it. We know 
now the natural antipathy you strove against, and con¬ 
quered for her dear sake. We thank you with all our 
hearts, and all our love and duty. Heaven be with 
you! ” 

Her father’s only answer was to draw his hands through 
his white hair and wring them with a cry of anguish. 

“It could not be otherwise,” said the prisoner. “All 
things have worked together as they have fallen out. It 
was the always-vain endeavor to discharge my poor mother s 
trust that first brought my fatal presence near you. Good 
could never come of such evil, a happier end was not in 
nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be comforted, and for¬ 
give me. Heaven bless you! ” 

As he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood - 
looking after him with her hands touching one another in 
the attitude of prayer, and with a radiant look upon her 
face, in which there was even a comforting smile. As he 
went out at the prisoner’s door, she turned, laid her head 
lovingly on her father’s breast, tried to speak to him, and 
fell at his feet. 

Then, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had 
never moved, Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only 


320 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


her father and Mr. Lorry were with her. His arm trembled 
as it raised her, and supported her head. Yet there was an 
air about him that was not all of pity — that had a flush of 
pride in it. 

“ Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her 
weight.” 

He carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly 
down in a coach. Her father and Mr. Lorry got into it, 
and he took his seat beside the driver. 

When they arrived at the gateway where he had paused 
in the dark not many hours before to picture to himself 
on which of the rough stones of the street her feet had 
trodden, he lifted her again, and carried her up the staircase 
to their rooms. There he laid her down on a couch, where 
her child and Miss Pross wept over her. 

“ Don’t recall her to herself,” he said to Miss Pross, “ she 
is better so. Don’t revive her to consciousness, while she 
only faints.” 

“ Oh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton! ” cried little Lucie, 
springing up and throwing her arms passionately round him, 
in a burst of grief. “ Now that you have come, I think 
you will do something to help mamma, something to save 
papa! Oh, look at her, dear Carton! Can you, of all the 
people who love her, bear to see her so ? ” 

He bent over the child, and laid her blooming cheek 
against his face. Then he put her gently from him, and 
looked at her unconscious mother. 

“ Before I go,” he said, and paused — “I may kiss her ? ” 

It was remembered afterwards that when he bent down 
and touched her face with his lips, he murmured, “A life 
you love.” 

When he had gone out into the next room, he turned sud¬ 
denly on Mr. Lorry and her father, who were following, and 
said to the latter: 



THE TRACK OF A STORM 


321 


“ You had great influence but yesterday, Doctor Manette; 
let it at least be tried. These judges and all the men in 
power are very friendly to you, and very recognizant of 
your services, are they not ? ” 

“ Nothing connected with Charles was concealed from 
me. I had the strongest assurances that I should save him, 
and I did.” He returned the answer in great trouble, and 
very slowly. 

“ Try them again. The hours between this and tomor¬ 
row afternoon are few and short, but try.” 

“ I intend to try. I will not rest a moment.” 

“ That’s well. I have known such energy as yours do 
great things before now — though never,” he added with 
a smile and a sigh together, “ such great things as this. But 
try! Of little worth as life is when we misuse it, it is worth 
that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down if it were 
not.” 

“ I will go,” said Doctor Manette, “ to the prosecutor 
and the President straight, and I will go to others whom 
it is better not to name. I will write too— But stay! 
There is a celebration in the streets, and no one will be ac¬ 
cessible until dark.” 

“ That’s true. Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and 
not much the forlorner for being delayed till dark. I should 
like to know how you speed; though, mind! I expect 
nothing! When are you likely to have seen these dread 
powers, Doctor Manette ? ” 

“ Immediately after dark, I should hope. Within an hour 
or two from this.” 

“ It will be dark soon after four. Let us stretch the hour 
or two. If I go to Mr. Lorry’s at nine, shall I hear what 
you have done, either from our friend or from yourself? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ May you prosper! ” 


322 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Mr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door and, touch¬ 
ing him on the shoulder as he was going away, caused him 
to turn. 

“ I have no hope,” said Mr. Lorry, in a low and sorrowful 
whisper. 

“ Nor have I.” 

“ If any one of these men, or all of these men, were dis¬ 
posed to spare him — which is a large supposition; for what 
is his life, or any man’s life to them! —I doubt if they 
would dare to spare him after the demonstration in the 
court.” 

“ And so do I. I heard the fall of the axe in that sound.” 

Mr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the doorpost and bowed 
his face upon it. 

“ Don’t despond,” said Carton, very gently; “don’t 
grieve. I encouraged Doctor Manette in this idea, because 
I felt that it might one day be consolatory to her. Other¬ 
wise, she might think ' his life was wantonly thrown away 
or wasted,’ and that might trouble her.” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” returned Mr. Lorry, drying his eyes, 
“you are right. But he will perish; there is no real hope.” 

“Yes. He will perish; there is no real hope,” echoed 
Carton. And walked with a settled step downstairs. 


CHAPTER XII 
DARKNESS 

S YDNEY CARTON paused in the street, not quite de¬ 
cided where to go. “At Tellson’s banking house at 
nine,” he said, with a musing face. “ Shall I do well, in the 
meantime, to show myself? I think so. It is best that these 
people should know there is such a man as I here; it is a 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 323 

sound precaution and may be a necessary preparation. But 
care, care, care! Let me think it out! ” 

Checking his steps which had begun to tend towards an 
object, he took a turn or two in the already darkening 
street and traced the thought in his mind to its possible 
consequences. His first impression was confirmed. “ It is 
best,” he said, finally resolved, “ that these people should 
know there is such a man as I here.” And he turned his 
face towards Saint Antoine. 

Defarge had described himself that day as the keeper 
of a wine shop in the Saint Antoine suburb. It was not 
difficult for one who knew the city well to find his house 
without asking any question. Having ascertained its situa¬ 
tion, Carton came out of those closer streets again, dined 
at a place of refreshment, and fell sound asleep after dinner. 
For the first time in many years, he had no strong drink. 
Since last night he had taken nothing but a little light thin 
wine, and last night he had dropped the brandy slowly down 
on Mr. Lorry’s hearth like a man who had done with it. 

It was as late as seven o’clock when he awoke refreshed 
and went out into the streets again. As he passed along 
towards Saint Antoine, he stopped at a shop window where 
there was a mirror and slightly altered the disordered ar¬ 
rangement of his loose necktie, his coat collar, and his wild 
hair. This done, he went on direct to Defarge’s, and 
went in. 

There happened to be no customer in the shop but Jacques 
Three. This man, whom he had seen upon the jury, stood 
drinking at the little counter, in conversation with the 
Defarges, man and wife. The Vengeance assisted in the 
conversation, like a regular member of the establishment. 

Carton walked in, took his seat, and asked in poor French, 
as if he did not understand the language, for a small measure 
of wine. Madame Defarge cast a careless glance at him, and 


324 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

then a keener, and then a keener, and then advanced to him 
herself, and asked him what it was he had ordered. 

He repeated what he had already said. 

“English? ” asked Madame Defarge, inquisitively raising 
her dark eyebrows. 

After looking at her, as if the sound of even a single 
French word were slow to express itself to him, he answered, 
in his former strong foreign accent, “Yes, madame, yes. 
I am English! ” 

Madame Defarge returned to her counter to get the wine, 
and as Carton took up a Jacobin journal and pretended to 
be puzzling out its meaning, he heard her say, “ I swear 
to you, like Evremonde! ” 

Defarge brought him the wine, and gave him good eve¬ 
ning. 

“ How?” 

“ Good evening.” 

“Oh! Good evening, citizen,” filling his glass. “Ah! 
and good wine. I drink to the republic.” 

Defarge went back to the counter, and said, “ Certainly, 
a little like.” 

Madame sternly retorted, “ I tell you a good deal like.” 
Jacques Three pacifically remarked, “He is so much in 
your mind, see you, Madame.” The amiable Vengeance 
added, with a laugh, “ Yes, my faith! And you are looking 
forward with so much pleasure to seeing him once more 
tomorrow.” 

Carton followed the lines and words of his paper, with a 
slow forefinger, and with a studious absorbed face. They 
were all leaning their arms on the counter close together, 
speaking low. After a silence of a few moments, during 
which they all looked towards him, without disturbing his 
outward attention from the Jacobin paper, they resumed 
their conversation. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 325 

“ It is true what madame says,” observed Jacques Three. 
“ Why stop ? There is great force in that. Why stop ? ” 

“ Well, well,” reasoned Defarge, “but one must stop 
somewhere. After all, the question is still where?” 

“ At extermination,” said madame. 

“Magnificent! ” croaked Jacques Three. The Vengeance 
also highly approved. 

“ Extermination is good doctrine, my wife,” said De¬ 
farge, rather troubled; “in general, I say nothing against 
it. But this Doctor has suffered much; you have seen him 
today; you have observed his face when the paper was 
read.” 

“ I have observed his face! ” repeated madame, con¬ 
temptuously and angrily. “ Yes. I have observed his face 
to be not the face of a true friend of the republic. Let him 
take care of his face! ” 

“And you have observed, my wife,” said Defarge, in a 
pleading manner, “ the anguish of his daughter, which must 
be a dreadful anguish to him! ” 

“ I have observed his daughter,” repeated madame; “ yes, 
I have observed his daughter, more times than one. I have 
observed her today, and I have observed her other days. I 
have observed her in the court, and I have observed her in 
the street by the prison. Let me but lift my finger — ! ” 
She seemed to raise it (the listener’s eyes were always on his 
paper), and to let it fall with a rattle on the ledge before her, 
as if the axe had dropped. 

“ The citizeness is superb! ” croaked the juryman. 

“She is an angel! ” said The Vengeance, and embraced 
her. 

“As to you,” pursued madame, relentlessly to her hus¬ 
band, “ if it depended on you — which, happily, it does not 
— you would rescue this man even now.” 

“No! ” protested Defarge. “Not if to lift this glass 


326 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

would do it! But I would leave the matter there. I say 
stop there.” 

“ See you then, Jacques,” said Madame Defarge, wrath- 
fully; “ and see you too, my little Vengeance; see you both! 
Listen! For other crimes as tyrants and oppressors, I have 
this race a long time on my register, doomed to destruction 
and extermination. Ask my husband, is that so.” 

“ It is so,” assented Defarge, without being asked. 

“ In the beginning of the great days, when the Bastille 
falls, he finds this paper of today, and he brings it home, 
and in the middle of the night when this place is clear and 
shut, we read it, here on this, spot, by the light of this lamp. 
Ask him, is that so.” 

“ It is so,” assented Defarge. 

“ That night, I tell him, when the paper is read through, 
and the lamp is burnt out, and the day is gleaming in above 
those shutters and between those iron bars, that I have 
now a secret to communicate. Ask him, is that so.” 

“ It is so,” assented Defarge again. 

“ I communicate to him that secret. I smite this bosom 
with these two hands as I smite it now, and I tell him, 
‘ Defarge, I was brought ilp among the fishermen of the 
seashore, and that peasant family so injured by the two 
Evremonde brothers, as that Bastille paper describes, is my 
family. Defarge, that sister of the mortally wounded boy 
upon the ground was my sister, that husband was my sister’s 
husband, that brother was my brother, that father was my 
father, those dead are my dead, and that summons to answer 
for those things descends to me! ’ Ask him, is that so.” 

“ It is so,” assented Defarge once more. 

“ Then tell wind and fire where to stop,” returned ma- 
dame, “ but don’t tell me! ” 

Both her hearers derived a horrible enjoyment from the 
deadly nature of her wrath — the listener could feel how 


327 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 

white she was, without seeing her — and both highly com¬ 
mended it. Defarge, a weak minority, interposed a few 
words for the memory of the compassionate wife of the 
Marquis 5 but only elicited from his own wife a repetition 
of her last reply. 

“ Tell the wind and the fire where to stop; not me! ” 

Customers entered, and the group was broken up. The 
English customer paid for what he had had, perplexedly 
counted his change, and asked, as a stranger, to be directed 
towards the National Palace. Madame took him to the 
door, and put her arm on his, in pointing out the road. The 
English customer was not without reflections then that it 
might be a good deed to seize that arm, lift it, and strike 
under it sharp and deep. 

But he went his way, and was soon swallowed up in the 
shadow of the prison wall. At the appointed hour, he 
emerged from it to present himself in Mr. Lorry’s room 
again, where he found the old gentleman walking to and 
fro in restless anxiety. He said he had been with Lucie 
until just now, and had only left her for a few minutes, td 
come and keep his appointment. Her father had not been 
seen since he left the banking house towards four o’clock. 
She had some faint hopes that his mediation might save 
Charles, but they were very slight. He had been more 
than five hours gone. Where could he be? 

Mr. Lorry waited until ten; but Doctor Manette not re- ' 
turning, and he being unwilling to leave Lucie any longer, 
it was arranged that he should go back to her, and come 
to the banking house again at midnight. In the meanwhile, 
Carton would wait alone by the fire for the Doctor. 

He waited and waited, and the clock struck twelve; but 
Doctor Manette did not come back. Mr. Lorry returned, 
and found no tidings of him, and brought none. Where 
could he be ? 


328 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

They were discussing this question and were almost build¬ 
ing up some weak structure of hope on his prolonged ab¬ 
sence when they heard him on the stairs. The instant he 
entered the room, it was plain that all was lost. 

Whether he had really been to any one, or whether he 
had been all that time traversing the streets, was never 
known. As he stood staring at them, they asked him no 
question, for his face told them everything. 

“ I cannot find it,” he said, “ and I must have it. Where 
is it? ” 

His head and throat were bare, and, as he spoke with 
a helpless look straying all around, he took his coat off and 
let it drop on the floor. 

“ Where is my bench? I have been looking everywhere 
for my bench, and I can’t find it. What have they done 
with my work? Time presses: I must finish those shoes.” 

They looked at one another, and their hearts died within 
them. 

“ Come, come! ” he said, in a whimpering miserable way, 
“ let me get to work. Give me my work.” 

Receiving no answer, he tore his hair, and beat his feet 
upon the ground like a distracted child. 

“ Don’t torture a poor forlorn wretch,” he implored them 
with a dreadful cry; “ but give me my work! What is to 
become of us, if those shoes are not done tonight ? ” 

Lost, utterly lost! 

It was so clearly beyond hope to reason with him, or 
try to restore him, that they each put a hand upon his 
shoulder, and soothed him to sit down before the fire, with 
a promise that he should have his work presently. He 
sank into the chair, and brooded over the embers, and shed 
tears. As if all that had happened since the garret time 
were a fancy or a dream, Mr. Lorry saw him shrink into 
the exact figure that Defarge had had in keeping. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


329 


Affected and impressed with terror as they both wexe by 
this spectacle of min, it was not a time to yield to such 
emotions. His lonely daughter, bereft of her final hope and 
reliance, appealed to them both too strongly. Carton 
was the first to speak. 

“ The last chance is gone; it was not much. Yes, he had 
better be taken to her. But before you go, will you, for a 
moment, steadily attend to me ? Don’t ask me why I make 
the stipulations I am going to make and exact the promise 
I am going to exact; I have a reason — a good one.” 

“ I do not doubt it,” answered Mr. Lorry. “ Say on.” 

The figure in the chair between them was all the time 
rocking itself to and fro and moaning. They spoke in such 
a tone as they would have used if they had been watching 
by a sick bed in the night. 

Carton stooped to pick up the coat which lay almost 
entangling his feet. As he did so, a small case in which 
the Doctor was accustomed to carry the list of his day’s 
duties fell lightly on the floor. Carton took it up, and there 
was a folded paper in it. “ We should look at this?” he 
said. Mr. Lorry nodded his consent. He opened it, and 
exclaimed, “ Thank God! ” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Mr. Lorry, eagerly. 

“A moment! Let me speak of it in its place. First,” 
he put his hand in his coat, and took another paper from 
it, “ that is the certificate which enables me to pass out 
of this city. Look at it. You see — Sydney Carton, an 
Englishman ? ” 

Mr. Lorry held it open in his hand, gazing in his earnest 
face. 

“ Keep it for me until tomorrow. I shall see him tomor¬ 
row, you remember, and I had better not take it into the 
prison.” 1 

“ Why not?” 


330 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ l don’t know; I prefer not to do so. Now take this paper 
that Doctor Manette has carried about him. It is a similar 
certificate, enabling him and his daughter and her child, 
at any time, to pass the barrier and the frontier. You see? ” 
“ Yes! ” 

“ Perhaps he obtained it as his last arid utmost precau¬ 
tion against evil, yesterday. When is it dated? But no 
matter; don’t stay to look; put it up carefully with mine and 
your own. Now, observe! I never doubted, until within 
this hour or two, that he had, or could have, such a paper. 
It is good until recalled. But it may be soon recalled, and 
I have reason to think will be.” 

“ They are not in danger ? ” 

“ They are in great danger. They are in danger of de¬ 
nunciation by Madame Defarge. I know it from her own 
lips. I have overheard words of that woman’s tonight which 
have presented their danger to me in strong colors. I have 
lost no time, and since then, I have seen the spy. He con¬ 
firms me. He knows that a wood-sawyer, living by the 
prison wall, is under the control of the Defarges, and has 
been rehearsed by Madame Defarge as to his having seen 
Her ” — he never mentioned Lucie’s name — “ making signs 
and signals to prisoners. It is easy to see that the pretence 
will be the common one, a prison plot, and that it will in¬ 
volve her life — and perhaps her child’s — and perhaps her 
father’s — for both have been seen with her at that place. 
Don’t look so horrified. You will save them all.” 

“ Heaven grant I may, Carton! But how ? ” 

“ I am going to tell you how. It will depend on you, 
and it could depend on no better man. This new denun¬ 
ciation will certainly not take place until after tomorrow; 
probably not until two or three days afterwards; more 
probably a week afterwards. You know it is a capital 
crime to mourn for, or sympathize with, a victim of the 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


331 


guillotine. She and her father would, of course, be guilty 
of this crime, ajid this woman would wait to add that 
strength to her case to make herself doubly sure. You 
follow me ? ” 

“ So attentively, and with so much confidence in what 
you say, that for the moment I lose sight,” touching the 
back of the Doctor’s chair, “ even of this distress.” 

“ You have money, and can buy the means of traveling 
to the sea coast as quickly as the journey can be made. Your 
preparations have been completed for some days to return 
to England. Early tomorrow have your horses ready, so 
that they may be in starting trim at two o’clock in the after¬ 
noon.” 

“ It shall be done! ” 

His manner was so fervent and inspiring that Mr. Lorry 
caught the flame and was as quick as youth. 

“ You are a noble heart. Did I say we could depend upon 
no better man? Tell her tonight what you know of her dan¬ 
ger as involving her child and her father. Dwell upon that, 
for she would lay her own fair head beside her husband’s 
cheerfully.” He faltered for an instant; then went on as 
before. “ For the sake of her child and her father, press 
upon her the necessity of leaving Paris, with them and you, 
at that hour. Tell her that it was her husband’s last ar¬ 
rangement. Tell her that more depends upon it than she 
dare believe or hope. You think that her father, even in this 
sad state, will submit himself to her, do you not ? ” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“ I thought so. Quietly and steadily have all these ar¬ 
rangements made in the courtyard here, even to the taking 
of your own seat in the carriage. The moment I come to 
you, take me in, and drive away.” 

“ I understand that I wait for you under all circum¬ 
stances ? ” 


332 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ You have my certificate in your hand with the rest, you 
know, and will reserve my place. Wait fQr nothing but to 
have my place occupied, and then for England! ” 

“ Why, then,” said Mr. Lorry, grasping his eager but so 
firm and steady hand, “ it does not all depend on one old 
man, but I shall have a young and ardent man at my side.” 

“ By the help of heaven, you shall! Promise me solemnly 
that nothing will influence you to alter the course on which 
we now stand pledged to one another.” 

“ Nothing, Carton.” 

“ Remember these words tomorrow: change the course, 
or delay in it — for any reason — and no life can possibly 
be saved, and many lives must inevitably be sacrificed.” 

“ I will remember them. I hope to do my part faithfully.” 

“And I hope to do mine. Now, good-bye! ” 

Though he said it with a grave smile of earnestness, and 
though he even put the old man’s hand to his lips, he did 
not part from him then. He helped him to arouse the rock¬ 
ing figure before the dying embers, to get a cloak and hat 
put upon it, and to tempt it forth to find where the bench 
and work were hidden that it moaningly besought to have. 
He walked on the other side of it and protected it to the 
courtyard of the house where the afflicted heart — so happy 
in the memorable time when he had revealed his own deso¬ 
late heart to it — outwatched the awful night. He entered 
the courtyard and remained there for a few moments alone, 
looking up at the light in the window of her room. Before 
he went away, he breathed a blessing towards it, and a fare¬ 
well. 


In the Black Prison of the Conciergerie. 



























































334 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


CHAPTER XIII 
FIFTY-TWO 

I N THE black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of 
the day awaited their fate. They were in number as the 
weeks of the year. Fifty-two were to roll that afternoon on 
the life tide of the city to the boundless everlasting sea. 
Two score and twelve were told off; from the farmer- 
general tax collector of seventy, whose riches could not buy 
his life, to the young dressmaker of twenty, whose poverty 
and obscurity could not save her. 

Charles Darnay, alone in a cell, had sustained himself 
with no flattering delusion since he came to it from the 
tribunal. In every line of the narrative, he had heard his 
condemnation. He fully understood that no personal influ¬ 
ence could save him, that he was sentenced by the millions, 
and that units could avail him nothing. 

Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his be¬ 
loved wife fresh before him, to compose his mind to what 
it must bear. His hold on life was strong, and it was very, 
very hard to loosen. If, for a moment, he succeeded in mak¬ 
ing himself feel resigned, then his wife and child who had 
to live after him seemed to protest and to make it a 
selfish thing. 

But all this was at first. Before long, the consideration 
that there was no disgrace in the fate he must meet and 
that numbers went the same road wrongfully and trod 
it firmly every day sprang up to stimulate him. Next 
followed the thought that much of the future peace of mind 
enjoyable by the dear ones depended on his quiet fortitude. 
So by degrees he calmed into the better state, when he could 
raise his thoughts much higher and draw comfort down. 
Before it had set in dark on the night of his condemnation, 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


335 


he had traveled thus far on his last way. Being allowed 
to purchase the means of writing and a light, he sat down 
to write until such time as the prison lamps should be ex¬ 
tinguished. 

He wrote a long letter to Lucie, showing her that he had 
known nothing of her father’s imprisonment until he had 
heard of it from herself and that he had been as ignorant 
as she of his father’s and uncle’s responsibility for that mis¬ 
ery until the paper had been read. He had already ex¬ 
plained to her that his concealment from herself of his real 
name was the one condition — fully intelligible now — that 
her father had attached to their betrothal, and was the one 
promise he had still exacted on the morning of their mar¬ 
riage. He entreated her, for her father’s sake, never, to 
seek to know whether her father had entirely forgotten 
about the paper, or had it recalled to him (for the moment 
or for good), by the story of the Tower, on that old Sunday 
under the dear old plane tree in the garden. If he had re¬ 
membered it, there could be no doubt that he had sup¬ 
posed it destroyed with the Bastille, when he had found no 
mention of it among the relics of prisoners which the people 
had discovered there and which had been described to all 
the world. He besought her — though he added that he 
knew it was needless — to console her father by impressing 
him with every tender means she could think of, with the 
truth that he had done nothing for which he could justly re¬ 
proach himself, but had uniformly forgotten himself for 
their joint sakes. Next to her preservation of his own last 
grateful love and blessing, and her overcoming of her sor¬ 
row to devote herself to their dear child, he adjured her, 
as they would meet in heaven, to comfort her father. 

To her father himself, he wrote in the same strain; but 
he told her father that he expressly confided his wife and 
child to his care. He told him this very strongly, with the 


336 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


hope of rousing him from any despondency or dangerous 
brooding spells. 

To Mr. Lorry, he commended them all and explained 
his worldly affairs. That done, with many added sentences 
of grateful friendship and warm attachment, all was done. 
He never thought of Carton. His mind was so full of the 
others that he never once thought of him. 

He *had time to finish these letters before the lights were 
put out. When he lay down on his straw bed, he thought 
he had done with this world. 

But it beckoned him back in his sleep and showed itself 
in shining forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in 
Soho, unaccountably released- and light of heart, he was 
with Lucie again, and she told him it was all a dream, and 
he had never gone away. A pause of forgetfulness, and 
then he had even suffered, and had come back to her, dead 
and at peace, and yet there was no difference in him. 
Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the somber 
morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, 
until it flashed upon his mind, “ This is the day of my 
death! ” 

Thus had he come through the hours to the day when the 
fifty-two heads were to fall. And now while he was com¬ 
posed and hoped that he could meet the end with quiet 
heroism, a new action began in his waking thoughts, which 
was very difficult to master. 

He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate 
his life. How high it was from the ground; how many 
steps it had, where he would be stood, how he would be 
touched, whether the touching hands would be dyed red, 
which way his face would be turned, whether he would be 
the first or might be the last — these and many similar 
questions came into his mind over and over again. Neither 
were they connected with fear; he was conscious of no 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 337 

fear. Rather they originated in the desire to know what 
to do when the time came. 

The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks 
struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine 
gone forever, ten gone forever, eleven gone forever, twelve 
coming on to pass away. 

The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and 
down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and 
for his loved ones. 

He had been told that the final hour was three, but he 
knew he would be summoned some time earlier, as the tum¬ 
brils jolted slowly and heavily through the streets. There¬ 
fore he resolved to keep two before his mind as the hour, 
and so to strengthen himself in the interval that he might 
be able, after, that time, to strengthen others. 

Walking regularly to and fro with his arms folded on 
his breast, a very different man from the prisoner who had 
walked to and fro at La Force, he heard one struck away 
from him, without surprise. The hour had measured like 
most other hours. Devoutly thankful to heaven for his 
recovered self-possession, he thought, “ There is but an¬ 
other now,” and turned to walk again. 

Footsteps in the stone passage outside the door. He 
stopped. 

The key was put in the lock, and turned. Before the 
door was opened, or as it opened, a man said in a low voice, 
in English: 

“ He has never seen me here; I have kept out of his way. 
Go you in alone; I wait near. Lose no time! ” 

The door was quickly opened and closed, and there stood 
before him face to face, quiet, intent upon him, with the 
light of a smile on his features, and a cautionary finger on 
his lip, Sydney Carton. 

There was something so bright and remarkable in his 


338 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


look, that, for the first moment, the prisoner misdoubted 
him to be an apparition of his own imagining. But he 
spoke, and it was his voice. He took the prisoner’s hand, 
and it was his real grasp. 

“ Of all the people upon earth, you least expected to see 
me ? ” he said. 

“ I could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it 
now. You are not a prisoner? ” 

“ No. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one 
of the keepers here, and in virtue of it I stand before you. 
I come from her — your wife, dear Darnay.” 

The prisoner wrung his hand. 

“ I bring you a request from her.” 

“ What is it?” 

“A most earnest, pressing, and emphatic entreaty, ad¬ 
dressed to you in the most pathetic tones of the voice so 
dear to you, that you well remember.” 

The prisoner turned his face partly aside. 

“ You have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what 
it means. I have no time to tell you. You must comply 
with it — take off those boots you wear, and draw on these 
of mine.” 

There was a chair against the wall of the cell, behind 
the prisoner. Carton, pressing forward, had already, with 
the speed of lightning, got him down into it, and stood over 
him barefoot. 

“ Draw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them. 
Put your will to them. Quick! ” 

“ Carton, there is no escaping from this place. It never 
can be done. You will only die with me. It is madness.” 

“ If would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do 
I ? When I ask you to pass out at that door, tell me it is 
madness and remain here. Change that necktie for this of 
mine, that coat for this of mine. While you do it, let me 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 339 

take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like 
this of mine! ” 

With wonderful quickness, he forced all these changes 
upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his hands. 

“Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be 
accomplished. It never can be done. It has been at¬ 
tempted, and has always failed. I implore you not to add 
your death to the bitterness of mine” 

“ D° I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When 
I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on 
this table. Is your hand steady enough to write? ” 

“ It was when you came in.” 

“ Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, 
friend, quick! ” 

Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat 
down at the table. 

Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close 
beside him. 

“ Write exactly as I speak.” 

“ To whom do I address it? ” 

“ To no one.” Carton still had his hand in his breast. 

“ Do I date it? ” 

“ No.” 

The prisoner looked up at each question, Carton, stand¬ 
ing over him with his hand in his breast, looking down. 

“ ‘ If you remember/ ” said Carton, dictating, “ ‘ the 
words that passed between us, long ago, you will readily 
comprehend this when you see it. You do remember them, 

I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.’ ” 

He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner, 
chancing to look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the 
hand stopped, closing upon something. 

“ Have you written ‘ forget them ’ ? ” asked Carton. 

“ I have. Is that a weapon in your hand? ” 


340 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ No; I am not armed.” 

“ What is in your hand ? ” 

“ You shall know directly. Write on; there are but a few 
words now.” He dictated again. “ ‘ I am thankful that 
the time has come when I can prove them. That I do so is 
no subject for regret or grief.’ ” As he said these words 
with his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and softly 
moved down close to the writer’s face. 

The pen dropped from Darnay’s fingers on the table, and 
he looked about him vacantly. 

“ What vapor is that ? ” he asked. 

“ Vapor?” 

“ Something that crossed me? ” 

“ I am conscious of nothing; there can be nothing here. 
Take up the pen and finish. Hurry, hurry! ” 

As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties disor¬ 
dered, the prisoner made an effort to rally his attention. As 
he looked at Carton with clouded eyes and with an altered 
manner of breathing, Carton — his hand again in his breast 
— looked steadily at him. 

“ Hurry, hurry! ” 

The prisoner bent over the paper once more. 

“ ‘ If it had been otherwise ’ ” ; Carton’s hand was again 
watchfully and softly stealing down; “ ‘ I never should have 
used the longer opportunity. If it had been otherwise ’ ” ; 
the hand was at the prisoner’s face; “T should but have 
had so much the more to answer for. If it had been other¬ 
wise,’ ” Carton looked at the pen and saw it was trailing off 
into unintelligible signs. 

Carton’s hand moved back to his breast no more. The 
prisoner sprang up with a reproachful look, but Carton’s 
hand was close and firm at his nostrils, and' Carton’s left 
arm caught him round the waist. For a few seconds he 
faintly struggled with the man who had come to lay down 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 341 

his life for him; but within a minute or so, he was stretched 
insensible on the ground. 

Quickly Carton dressed himself in the clothes the prisoner 
had laid aside, combed back his hair, and tied it with 
the ribbon the prisoner had worn. Then he softly called, 
“ Enter there! Come in! ” and the spy presented him¬ 
self. 

“ You see? ” said Carton, looking up, as he kneeled on one 
knee beside the insensible figure, putting the paper in the 
breast. “ Is your risk very great ? ” 

“ Mr. Carton/' the spy answered, with a timid snap of 
his fingers, “my risk is not that, in the thick of business 
here, if you are true to the whole of your bargain.” 

“ Don’t fear me; I will be true to the death.” 

“ You must be, Mr. Carton, if the tale of fifty-two is to be 
right. Being made right by you in that dress, I shall have 
no fear.” 

“ Have no fear! I shall soon be out of the way of harm¬ 
ing you, and the rest will soon be far from here, please 
God! Now get assistance and take me to the coach.” 

“You?” said the spy nervously. 

“ Him, man, with whom I have exchanged. You go out 
at the gate by which you brought me in ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ I was weak and faint when you brought me in, and I 
am fainter now you take me out. The parting interview 
has overpowered me. Such a thing has happened here 
often, and too often. Your life is in your own hands. 
Quick! Call assistance! ” 

“You swear not to betray me?” said the trembling 
spy, as he paused for a last moment. 

“Man, man! ” stamping his foot; “have I sworn by no 
solemn vow already to go through with this that you waste 
the precious moments now? Take him yourself to the 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


342 

courtyard you know of; place him yourself in the carriage. 
Show him yourself to Mr. Lorry. Tell him yourself to give 
him no restorative but air, and to remember my words 
of last night, and his promise of last night, and drive 
away! ” 

The spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself at the table, 
resting his forehead on his hands. The spy returned imme¬ 
diately with two men. 

“ How, then ? ” said one of them, contemplating the fallen 
figure. “ So afflicted to find that his friend has drawn a 
prize in the lottery of Sainte Guillotine ? ” 

“ A good patriot,” said the other, “ could hardly have 
been more afflicted if the aristocrat had drawn a blank.” 

They raised the unconscious figure, placed it on a litter 
they had brought to the door, and bent to carry it away. 

“ The time is short, Evremonde,” said the spy in a warn¬ 
ing voice. 

“ I know it well,” answered Carton. “ Be careful of my 
friend, I entreat you, and leave me.” 

“ Come then, my children,” said Barsad. “ Lift him, 
and come away! ” 

The door closed, and Carton was left alone. He listened 
for any sound that might denote suspicion. There was 
none. Keys turned, doors clashed, footsteps passed along, 
but no cry was raised, or hurry made, that seemed un¬ 
usual. Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down 
at the table, and listened again until the clock struck two. 
Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he knew their mean¬ 
ing, then began to be audible. Several doors were opened, 
and finally his own. A jailor, with a list in his hand, looked 
in, merely saying, “ Follow me, Evremonde! ” and he fol¬ 
lowed into a large dark room at a distance. It was a dark 
winter day, and he could only dimly see the others who 
were brought there to have their arms bound. Some were 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


343 


standing; some seated. Some were lamenting and in rest¬ 
less motion, but these were few. The great majority were 
silent and still, looking fixedly at the ground. 

As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the 
fifty-two were brought in after him, one man stopped in 
passing to embrace him as having a knowledge of him. It 
thrilled him with a great dread of discovery, but the man 
went on. A very few moments after that a young woman, 
with a slight girlish form, a sweet face in which there was 
no vestige of color, and large widely opened patient eyes, 
rose from the seat where she had been sitting, and came 
to speak to him. 

“ Citizen Evremonde,” touching him with her cold hand, 
“ I am the poor little seamstress who was with you in La 
Force.” 

He murmured for answer, “ True. I forget what you 
were accused of ? ” 

" Plots. Though the just heaven knows I am innocent 
of any. Is it likely? Who would think of plotting with a 
poor little weak creature like me ? ” 

The forlorn smile with which she said it so touched him 
that tears started from his eyes. 

“ I am not afraid to die, Citizen Evremonde, but I have 
done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the republic 
which is to do so much good to us poor will profit by my 
death; but I do not know how that can be, Citizen Evre¬ 
monde. Such a poor, weak little creature! ” 

As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm 
and soften to, it warmed and softened to this pitiable little 
girl. 

“ I heard you were released, Citizen Evremonde. I hoped 
it was true ? ” 

“ It was. But I was again taken and condemned.” 

“If I may ride with you, Citizen Evremonde, will you 


344 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little 
and weak, and it will give me more courage/’ 

As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sud¬ 
den doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the 
work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his 
lips. 

“ Are you dying for him? ” she whispered. 

“ And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.” 

“ Oh, you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger ? ” 

“ Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.” 

The same shadows that are falling on the prison are 
falling, in that same hour of the early afternoon, on the bar¬ 
rier with the crowd about it, when a coach going out of 
Paris drives up to be examined. 

“ Who goes here? Whom have we within? Papers! ” 

The papers are handed out, and read. 

“Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is 
he?” 

This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wan¬ 
dering old man is pointed out. 

“ Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind ? 
The Revolution fever will have been too much for him ? ” 

Greatly too much for him. 

“Hah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. 
French. Which is she ? ” 

This is she. 

“ Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evremonde, 
is it not ? ” 

“ It is,” said Mr. Lorry. 

“Hah! Evremonde has an appointment elsewhere. 
Lucie, her child. English. This is she? ” 

She and no other. 

“ Kiss me, child of Evremonde. Now thou hast kissed a 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


345 


good republican; something new in thy family; remember 
it! Sydney Carton. Advocate. English. Which is he?” 

He lies here in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is 
pointed out. 

“ Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon? ” 

It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is repre¬ 
sented that he is not in strong health, and has separated 
sadly from a friend who is under the displeasure of the re¬ 
public. 

“ Is that all ? It is not a great deal, that! Many are un¬ 
der the displeasure of the republic, and must look out at 
the little window. 1 Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which 
is he?” 

“ I am he. Necessarily, being the last.” 

It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his 
hand on the coach door, replying to a group of officials. It 
is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. 
The officials leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely 
mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on the 
roof. The country people hanging about press nearer to 
the coach doors and greedily stare in. A little child carried 
by its mother has its short arm held out for it that it may 
touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the 
guillotine. 

“ Behold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, countersigned.” 

“ One can depart, citizen ? ” 

“ One can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good jour¬ 
ney! ” 

“ I salute you, citizens. —And the first danger passed! ” 

These are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps 
his hands, and looks upward. There is terror in the car¬ 
riage, there is weeping, there is the heavy breathing of the 
insensible traveler. 


1 To be guillotined. 


346 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ Are we not going too slowly ? Can they not be induced 
to go faster ? ” asks Lucie, clinging to the old man. 

“ It would seem like flight, my darling. I must not urge 
them too much; it would rouse suspicion.” 

“ Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! ” 

“ The road is clear, my dearest. So far, we are not pur¬ 
sued.” 

Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, 
ruinous buildings, dye works, tanneries, and the like, open 
country, avenues of leafless trees. The hard uneven pave¬ 
ment is under us, the soft deep mud is on either side. 
Sometimes we strike into the mud to avoid the stones that 
clatter us and shake us; sometimes we stick in ruts and 
sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, 
that in our wild alarm and hurry we are for getting out 
and running — hiding — doing anything but stopping. 

Out of the open country, in again among ruinous build¬ 
ings, solitary farms, dye works, tanneries, and the like, 
cottages in twos and threes, avenues of leafless trees. Have 
these men deceived us, and taken us back by another road? 
Is not this the same place twice over? Thank heaven, no. 
A village. Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! 
Hush! the posting-house. 

Leisurely, our four horses are taken out; leisurely, the 
coach stands in the little street bereft of horses, and with 
no likelihood upon it of ever moving again; leisurely, the 
new horses come into view, one by one; leisurely the new 
postilions follow, sucking and plaiting the lashes of their 
whips; leisurely, the old postilions count their money, make 
wrong additions, and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the 
time our overfraught hearts are beating at a rate that 
would far outstrip the fastest gallop of the fastest horses 
ever born. 

At length the new postilions are in their saddles, and the 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


347 


old are left behind. We are through the village, up the 
hill, and down the hill, and on the low watery grounds. 
Suddenly, the postilions exchange speech with animated 
gesticulation, and the horses are pulled up, almost on their 
haunches. We are pursued? 

“ Ho! within the carriage there. Speak then! ” 

“ What is it? ” asks Mr. Lorry, looking out at window. 

“ How many did they say ? ” 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“ — At the last post. How many to the guillotine to¬ 
day?” 

“ Fifty-two. ” 

“ I said so! A brave number! My fellow citizen here 
would have it forty-two; ten more heads are worth having. 
The guillotine goes handsomely. I love it. Hi, forward. 
Whoop! ” 

The night comes on dark. He moves more. He is be¬ 
ginning to revive, and to speak intelligibly. He thinks they 
are still together. He asks him, by his name, what he has 
in his hand. 0 pity us, kind heaven, and help us! Look 
out, look out, and see if we are pursued. 

The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying 
after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole 
wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far, we are pursued 
by nothing else. 


CHAPTER XIV 
THE KNITTING DONE 


A T THAT time when the fifty-two awaited their fate, 
_ Madame Defarge held a council with The Vengeance 
and Jacques Three of the revolutionary jury. Not in the 
wine shop did madame confer, but in the shed of the wood- 


348 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


sawyer, once a mender of roads. The sawyer himself did 
not participate in the conference, but abided at a little dis¬ 
tance, like an outer satellite who was not to speak until re¬ 
quired. 

“ But our Defarge,” said Jacques Three, “ is undoubtedly 
a good republican ? ” 

“ There is no better,” The Vengeance protested in her 
shrill notes, “ in France.” 

“ Peace, little Vengeance,” said Madame Defarge, lay¬ 
ing her hand with a slight frown on her lieutenant’s lips, 
“ hear me speak. My husband, fellow citizen, is a good 
republican and a bold man; he has deserved well of the 
republic and possesses its confidence. But my husband has 
his weaknesses, and he is so weak as to relent towards this 
Doctor.” 

“ It is a great pity,” croaked Jacques Three, dubiously 
shaking his head. “ It is not quite like a good citizen. It is 
a thing to regret.” 

“ See you,” said madame, “ I care not for this Doctor, I. 
He may wear his head or lose it, for any interest I have in 
him. It is all one to me. But the Evremonde people are 
to be exterminated, and the wife and child must follow the 
husband and father.” 

“ She has a fine head for it,” croaked Jacques Three. 
“ I have seen blue eyes and golden hair there, and they 
looked charming when Samson held them up.” 

Madame Defarge cast down her eyes and reflected a 
little. 

“ The child also,” observed Jacques Three, “ has golden 
hair and blue eyes. And we seldom have a child there. 
It is a pretty sight.” 

“ In a word,” said Madame Defarge, coming out of her 
short abstraction, “ I cannot trust my husband in this 
matter. Not only do I feel since last night that I dare not 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


349 


confide to him the details of my projects; but also I feel 
that if I delay, there is danger of his giving warning, and 
then they might escape.” 

“ That must never be,” croaked Jacques Three. “No one 
must escape. We have not half enough as it is. We ought 
to have six score a day.” 

“ In a word,” Madame Defarge went on, “ my husband 
has not my reason for pursuing this family to annihilation, 
and I have not his reason for regarding this Doctor with 
any feeling. I must act for myself, therefore. Come hither, 
little citizen.” 

The wood-sawyer, who held her in respect and himself 
in the submission of mortal fear, advanced with his hand 
to his red cap. 

“ Touching those- signals, little citizen,” said Madame De¬ 
farge sternly, “ that she made to the prisoners. You are 
ready to bear witness to them this very day ? ” 

“ Ay, ay, why not! Every day in all weathers, from two 
to four, always signalling, sometimes with the little one, 
sometimes without. I know what I know. I have seen 
with my eyes.” He made all manner of gestures while he 
spoke, as if in imitation of signals that he had never seen. 

“ Clearly plots,” said Jacques Three. “ Transparently! ” 

“ There is no doubt of the jury? ” inquired Madame De¬ 
farge, letting her eyes turn to him with a gloomy smile. 

“ Rely upon the patriotic jury, dear citizeness. I answer 
for my fellow jurymen.” 

“ Now, let me see,” said Madame Defarge, pondering 
again. “Yet once more! Can I spare this Doctor to my 
husband ? I have no feeling either way. Can I spare him ? ” 

“He would count as one head,” observed Jacques Three 
in a low voice. “ We really have not heads enough. It 
would be a pity to spare him, I think.” 

“ He was signalling with her when I saw her,” argued 


352 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

increase its progress during the precious night, when delay 
was the most to be dreaded. 

Seeing in this arrangement the hope of giving real ser¬ 
vice, Miss Pross hailed it with joy. She and Jerry had 
seen the coach start, had known who it was that Solomon 
brought, and had passed some ten minutes in tortures of 
suspense. They were now concluding their arrangements 
to follow the coach, even as Madame Defarge, taking her 
way through the streets, now drew nearer and nearer. 
Miss Pross was so agitated that she could hardly speak, 
or stand, or move, or live, as they consulted in the deserted 
lodging. 

“ Now, what do you think, Mr. Cruncher, of our not 
starting from this courtyard? Another carriage having 
already gone from here today, it might awaken suspicion. 

“ My opinion, miss, is as you’re right. Likewise wot I’ll 
stand by you, right or wrong.” 

“ I am so distracted with fear and hope for our precious 
creatures,” said Miss Pross, wildly crying, “ that I am in¬ 
capable of forming any plan. Are you capable of forming 
any plan, my dear good Mr. Cruncher? ” 

“ Respectin’ a future spear o’ life, miss, I hope so. Re¬ 
spectin’ any present use of this here blessed old head of 
mine, I think not. Would you do me the favor, miss, to take 
notice o’ two promises and wows wot it is my wish fur to 
record in this-here crisis? ” 

“ Oh, for gracious sake! ” cried Miss Pross, still wildly 
crying, 11 record them at once, and get them out of the 
way, like an excellent man.” 

“ First,” said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble 
and spoke with an ashy and.solemn visage, “them poor 
things well out o’ this, never no more will I do it, never no 
more! ” 

“ I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher, that you never will do 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 353 

it again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it neces¬ 
sary to mention more particularly what it is.” 

“ No, miss, it shall not be named to you. Second, them 
poor things well out o’ this, and never no more will I inter¬ 
fere with Mrs. Cruncher’s flopping, never no more! ” 

“ Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be,” said 
Miss Pross, striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, 
“ I have no doubt it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should 
have it entirely under her own superintendence. — Oh, my 
poor darlings! ” 

“ I go so far as to say, miss, morehover — and let my 
words be took down and took to Mrs. Cruncher through 
yourself — that my opinions respectin’ flopping has under¬ 
gone a change, and that I only hope with all my heart 
as Mrs. Cruncher may be aflopping at the present time.” 

“There, there, there! I hope she is, my dear man, and 
I hope she finds it answering her expectations.” 

“ Forbid as anything wot I have ever said or done should 
be wisited on my earnest wishes for them poor creeters 
now. Forbid it as we shouldn’t all flop (if it was anyways 
conwenient) to get ’em out o’ this here dismal risk! ” 

And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the 
streets, came nearer and nearer. 

“ If ever we get back to our native land, you may rely 
upon my telling Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be able 
to remember of what you have so impressively said, and 
you may be sure that I shall bear witness to your being 
thoroughly in earnest at this dreadful time. — Now, let us 
think! My esteemed Mr. Cruncher, let us think! ” 

Still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the 
streets, came nearer and nearer. 

“ If you were to go before,” said Miss Pross, “ and stop 
the carriage and horses from coming here, and were to wait 
somewhere for me, wouldn’t that be best ? ” 


354 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


Mr. Cruncher thought it might be best. 

“ Where could you wait for me ? ” 

Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no 
locality but Temple Bar. Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds 
of miles away, and Madame Defarge was drawing very near 
indeed. 

“ By the cathedral door; would it be much out of the 
way to take me in near the great cathedral door between 
the two towers ? ” 

“ No, miss.” 

“ Then, like the best of men, go to the posting-house 
straight, and make that change.” 

“ I am doubtful,” hesitating and shaking his head, “ about 
leaving of you alone, you see. We don’t know what may 
happen.” 

“ Heaven knows we don’t, but have no fear for me. Take 
me in at the cathedral, at three o’clock, or as near it as you 
can. I am sure it will be better than our going from here. 
I feel certain of it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! 
Think! — not of me, but of the lives that may depend on 
both of us! ” 

This discourse, and Miss Pross’s two hands in quite 
agonized entreaty clasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With 
an encouraging nod or two, he immediately went out to alter 
the arrangements, and left her by herself to follow as she had 
proposed. 

She looked at her watch, and it was twenty minutes past 
two. She had no time to lose, but must get ready at once. 
Afraid, in her extreme agitation, of the loneliness of the 
deserted rooms, Miss Pross got a basin of cold water and 
began laving her eyes, which were swollen and red. She 
could not bear to have her sight obscured for a minute at 
a time by the dripping water, but constantly paused, and 
looked round to see that there was no one watching her. 


X 



By the great cathedral door, . . between the two towers. 






356 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

In one of those pauses she recoiled and cried out, for she 
saw a figure standing in the room. 

The basin fell to the ground broken, and the water flowed 
to the feet of Madame Defarge. By strange stern ways, 
and through much staining blood, those feet had come to 
meet that water. 

Madame Defarge looked coldly at her and said: 

“ The wife of Evremonde; where is she? ” 

It flashed upon Miss Pross’s mind that the doors were all 
open, and would suggest the flight. Her first act was to 
shut them. There were four in the room, and she shut them 
all. She then placed herself before the door of the room 
which Lucie had occupied. 

Madame Defarge’s dark eyes followed her through this 
rapid movement, and rested on her when it was finished. 
Miss Pross had nothing beautiful about her. Years had 
not tamed the wildness or softened the grimness of her 
appearance; but she, too, was a determined woman in her 
different way, and she measured Madame Defarge with 
her eyes, every inch. 

“ You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Luci¬ 
fer,” said Miss Pross, in her breathing. “ Nevertheless, you 
shall not get the better of me. I am an English woman.” 

Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with 
something of Miss Pross’s own perception that they two 
were at bay. She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before her, 
as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same figure a woman with a 
strong hand, in the years gone by. She knew full well that 
Miss Pross was the family’s devoted friend. Miss Pross 
knew full well that Madame Defarge was the family’s worst 
enemy. 

“ On my way yonder,” said Madame Defarge, with a 
slight movement of her hand towards the fatal spot, “ where 
they reserve my chair and my knitting for me, I am come 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 357 

to make my compliments to her in passing. I wish to see 
her.” 

“ I know that your intentions are evil,” said Miss Pross, 
“ and you may depend upon it, Ill hold my own against 
them.” 

Each spoke in her own language. Neither understood the 
other’s words. Both were very watchful and intent to 
learn, from look and manner, what the unintelligible words 
meant. 

“ It will do her no good to keep herself concealed from 
me at this moment. Good patriots will know what that 
means. Let me see her. Go tell her that I wish to see her. 
Do you hear ? ” 

“ If those eyes of yours were bed-winches, and I was an 
English four-poster, they shouldn’t loose a splinter of me. 
No, you wicked foreign woman. I am your match.” 

Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these remarks 
in detail, but she so far understood them as to perceive that 
she was set at nought. 

“ Woman imbecile and pig-like! ” frowning, “I get no 
answer from you. I demand to see her. Either tell her 
that I demand to see her, or stand out of the way of the door 
and let me go to her! ” This, with an angry explanatory 
wave of her right arm. 

“ I little thought that I should ever want to understand 
your nonsensical language; but I would give all I have, 
except the clothes I wear, to know whether you suspect the 
truth, or any part of it,” said Miss Pross. 

Neither of them for a single moment released the other’s 
eyes. Madame Defarge had not moved from the spot 
where she stood when Miss Pross first became aware of 
her, but she now advanced one step. 

“I am a Briton,” said Miss Pross, “ I am desperate. I 
don’t care an English twopence for myself. I know that the 


358 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


longer I keep you here the greater hope there is for my 
Ladybird. I’ll not leave a handful of that dark hair upon 
your head if you lay a finger on me! ” 

Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash 
of her eyes between every rapid sentence, and every rapid 
sentence a whole breath. Thus Miss Pross, who had never 
struck a blow in her life. 

But her courage was of that emotional nature that 
brought tears into her eyes. This was a courage that 
Madame Defarge so little comprehended as to mistake for 
weakness. 

“Ha, ha! ” she laughed, “you poor wretch! What are 
you worth! I address myself to that Doctor.” Then she 
raised her voice and called out: 

“ Citizen Doctor! Wife of Evremonde! Child of Evre- 
monde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer the 
Citizeness Defarge! ” 

Perhaps the following silence, perhaps the expression of 
Miss Pross’s face, perhaps a sudden doubt, whispered to 
Madame Defarge that they were gone. Three of the doors 
she quickly opened and looked in. 

“ Those rooms are all in disorder. There has been hurried 
packing; there are odds and ends upon the floor. There 
is no one in that room behind you! Let me look.” 

“Never! ” said Miss Pross, who understood the request 
as perfectly as Madame Defarge understood the answer. 

“ If they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be 
pursued and brought back,” said Madame Defarge to 
herself. 

“As long as you don’t know whether they are in that 
room or not, you are uncertain what to do,” said Miss 
Pross to herself; “ and you shall not know that, if I can 
prevent your knowing it; and know that or not know that, 
you shall not leave here while I can hold you.” 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


359 


“ I have been in the streets from the first, nothing has 
stopped me. I will tear you to pieces, but I will have you 
from that door.” 

“We are alone at the top of a high house in a solitary 
courtyard. We are not likely to be heard. I pray for bodily 
strength to keep you here, while every minute you are here 
is worth a hundred thousand guineas to my darling.” 

Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the 
instinct of the moment, seized her round the waist and held 
her tight. It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle 
and to strike. Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of 
love, always so much stronger than hate, clasped her tight, 
and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle that they 
had. The two hands of Madame Defarge struck and tore 
her face; but Miss Pross, with her head down, held her 
round the waist and clung to her with more than the hold 
of a drowning woman. 

Soon Madame Defarge’s hands ceased to strike, and felt 
at her encircled waist. “ It is under my arm,” said Miss 
Pross, in smothered tones, “ you shall not draw it. I am 
stronger than you. I bless heaven for it. I’ll hold you till 
one or other of us faints or dies! ” 

Madame Defarge’s hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross 
looked up, saw what it was, struck at it, struck out a flash 
and a crash, and stood alone, — blinded with smoke. 

All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving 
an awful stillness, it passed out on the air, like the soul of 
the furious woman whose body lay lifeless on the ground. 

In the first fright and horror of her situation, Miss Pross 
passed the body as far from it as she could, and ran down 
the stairs to call for help. Fortunately she thought of the 
terrible consequences of doing this, in time to check herself 
and go back. It was dreadful to go in at the door again; 
but she did go in, and even went near it to get the bonnet 


360 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

and other things that she must wear. These she put on, 
out on the staircase, first shutting and locking the door 
and taking away the key. She then sat down on the stairs 
a few moments to breathe and to cry, and then got up and 
hurried away. 

By good fortune she had a veil on her bonnet, or she could 
hardly have gone along the streets without being stopped. 
By good fortune, too, she was naturally so peculiar in ap¬ 
pearance as not to show disfigurement like any other woman. 
She needed both advantages, for the marks of griping fin¬ 
gers were deep in her face, her hair was torn, and her dress 
(hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and 
dragged a hundred ways. 

In crossing the bridge, she dropped the door key in the 
river. Arriving at the cathedral some few minutes before her 
escort and waiting there, she thought, what if the key were 
already taken in a net, what if it were identified, what if 
the door were opened and the remains discovered, what if 
she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged 
with murder! 

In the midst of these fluttering thoughts, the escort Jerry 
appeared, took her in, and took her away. 

“ Is there any noise in the streets? ” she asked him. 

“ The usual noises,” Mr. Cruncher replied, and looked 
surprised by the question and by her appearance. 

“ I don’t hear you. What did you say?” asked Miss 
Pross. 

It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat what he said. 
Miss Pross could not hear him. “ So I’ll nod my head,” 
thought Mr. Cruncher, amazed, “ at all events she’ll see 
that.” And she did. 

“Is there any noise in the streets, now?” asked Miss 
Pross again presently. 

Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head. 


In crossing the bridge, she dropped the key in the river. (The Pont-Neuf, as it appeared at the 

time of the story.) 



&\ ,\x VjF 







































































362 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ I don’t hear.” 

“ Gone deaf in an hour? ” said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, 
with his mind much disturbed; “ wot’s come to her? ” 

“I feel as if there had been a flash and a crash, and 
that crash was the last thing I should ever hear in this 


life.” 


“ Blest if she ain’t in a queer condition! Wot can she 
have been atakin’ to keep her courage up? Hark! There’s 
the roll of them dreadful carts! You can hear that, miss? ” 

“ I can hear nothing,” said Miss Pross, seeing that he 
spoke to her. “ Oh, my good man, there was first a great 
crash, and then a great stillness, and that stillness seems 
to be fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken any more 
as long as my life lasts.” 

“ If she don’t hear the roll of them dreadful carts, now 
very nigh their journey’s end,” said Mr. Cruncher, glancing 
over his shoulder, “ it’s my opinion that indeed she never 
will hear anything else in this world.” 

And indeed she never did. 

CHAPTER XV 

THE FOOTSTEPS DIE OUT FOR EVER 
jONG the Paris streets the death carts rumbled, hollow 



and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the day’s wine to La 
Guillotine. There is a guard of horsemen riding beside the 
tumbrils. Many faces are turned up to these horsemen to 
ask a question. It would seem to be always the same 
question, for after the answer there is always a crowd 
towards the third cart. The horsemen beside that cart fre¬ 
quently point out one man in it with their swords. The 
leading curiosity is to know which is he. He stands at the 
back of the tumbril with his head bent down, to converse 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


363 

with a mere girl who sits on the side of the cart, and holds 
his hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about 
him, and always speaks to the girl. 

Here and there cries are raised against him. If they move 
him at all it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair 
a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch 
his face, his arms being bound. 

On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the 
tumbrils, stands the spy. He looks into the first of them: 
not there. He looks into the second: not there. He already 
asks himself, “ Has he sacrificed me ? ” when his face clears, 
as he looks into the third. 

“ Which is Evremonde? ” says a man behind him. 

“ That. At the back there.” 

“ With his hand in the girl's ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The man cries, “ Down, Evremonde! To the guillotine 
all aristocrats! Down, Evremonde! ” 

“ Hush, hush! ” the spy entreats him timidly. 

“ And why not, citizen ? ” 

“ He is going to pay the forfeit; it will be paid in five 
minutes more. Let him be at peace.” 

But the man continuing to exclaim, “ Down, Evremonde! ” 
the face of Evremonde is for a moment turned towards him. 
Evremonde then sees the spy, and looks attentively at him, 
and goes his way. 

The clocks are on the stroke of three, when the tumbrils, 
with great crowds following, arrive at the guillotine. There 
is also a great crowd in waiting. In front of the guillotine, 
seated in chairs, are a number of women busily knitting. 
On one of the foremost chairs stands The Vengeance, looking 
about for her friend. 

“Therese! ” she cries, in her shrill tones. “Who has 
seen her? Therese Defarge! ” 


364 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

“ She never missed before,” says a knitting woman of the 
sisterhood. 

“ No; nor will she now,” cries The Vengeance, petulantly. 
“ Therese! ” 

“ Louder,” the woman recommends. 

Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will 
scarcely hear you. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little 
oath or so added, and yet it will hardly bring her. Send 
other women up and down to seek her, lingering somewhere; 
and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, 
it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go 
far enough to find her! 

“Bad fortune! ” cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot 
in the chair, “ and here are the tumbrils! and Evremonde 
will be dispatched in a wink, and she not here! See her 
knitting in my hand and her empty chair ready for her. 
I cry with vexation and disappointment! ” 

As The Vengeance descends from her elevation in the 
chair to do it, the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads. 
The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready. 
Crash! — A head is held up, and the knitting women, who 
scarcely lifted their eyes at it a moment ago when it could 
think and speak, count one. 

The second tumbril empties and moves on. The third 
comes up. Crash! —And the knitting women, never fal¬ 
tering or pausing in their work, count two. 

The supposed Evremonde descends, and the young girl 
is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished 
her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he 
promised. 

He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine, 
that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his 
face and thanks him. 

“ But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed. 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 365 

I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart. I should 
not have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was 
put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here 
today. I think you were sent to me by heaven.” 

Or you to me,” says Sydney Carton. “ Keep your eyes 
upon me, dear child, and mind no other object.” 

“ 1 mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind 
nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid.” 

“ They will be rapid. Fear not! ” 

The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, 
but they speak as if they were alone. 

Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one 
question? I am very ignorant, and it troubles me —just 
a little.” 

“ Tell me what it is.” 

“ I have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like 
myself, whom I love very dearly. She is five years younger 
than I, and she lives in a farmer’s house in the south coun¬ 
try. Poverty parted us, and she knows nothing of my fate 
— for I cannot write — and if I could, how should I tell 
her! It is better as it is.” 

“ Yes, yes; better as it is.” 

“ What I have been thinking as I came along, and what 
I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind, strong face 
which gives me so much support, is this: — If the republic 
really does good to the poor, and they come to be less 
hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long 
time; she may even live to be old.” 

“ What then, my gentle sister ? ” 

" Bo you think,” the uncomplaining eyes in which there 
is so much endurance fill with tears, and the lips part a little 
more and tremble, “ that it will seem long to me, while I 
wait for her in the better land where I trust both you and 
I will be mercifully sheltered ? ” 


366 


A TALE OF TWO CITIES 


“ It cannot be, my child; there is no time there, and no 
trouble there.” 

“ You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to 
kiss you now ? Is the moment come ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless » 
each other. The thin hand does not tremble as he releases 
it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the 
patient face. She goes next before him— is gone; the 
knitting women count twenty-two. 

“ I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he 
that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: 
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” 

The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many 
faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of 
the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great 
heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-three. 

# 

* * * 

They said of him about the city that night that it was 
the peacefulest man’s face ever beheld there. Many added 
that he looked sublime and prophetic. 

One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe — 
a woman, had asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not 
long before, to be allowed to write down the thoughts that 
were inspiring her. If he had given utterance to his, and 
they were prophetic, they would have been these: 

“ I see Barsad, Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the jury¬ 
men, the judge, long ranks of the new oppressors, perishing 
on this same guillotine. I see a beautiful city and a bril¬ 
liant people rising from this terrible Revolution. 

“ I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, 
useful, prosperous, and happy, in that England which I 
shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, 


THE TRACK OF A STORM 


367 


who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but 
otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing 
otfice and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their 
mend, m ten years’ time enriching them with all he has, and 
.passing tranquilly to his reward. 

' I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the 
hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see Her, 
an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this 
day I see Her and her husband, their course done, lying 
side by side m their last earthly bed, and I know that each 
was not more honored and held more sacred in the other’s 
soul, than I was in the souls of both. 


“ 1 see that child who % upon her bosom and who bore 
my name, a man, winning his way up in that path of life 
which once was mine. I see him winning it so well that my 
name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see 
the blots I threw upon it faded away. I see him, foremost 
of just judges and honored men, bringing a boy of my name, 
with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place * 
— then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day’s 
disfigurement —and I hear him tell the child my story, 
with a tender and a faltering voice. 

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever 
done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have 
ever known.” 


1 ,j la m, de la Con corde, one of the most beautiful squares in the 
world. The spot where the guillotine stood is commemorated bv a 
monument. 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

BOOK I 

Questions, Chapter I 

I. Who was put into prison? What was the name of the prison? 
In what city? 2. In what year was the person imprisoned? 3. What 
was his nationality? 4. In what city was he born? 5. In what year 
was he released from prison? 6. What was the name of the ones who 
caused the imprisonment? 7. What woman wanted to give money 
and jewels to a certain poor family? 8. What person said he would 
be faithful to the request of his mother and try to help the poor family 

whom his father and uncle had injured? 9. What was the name of the 

boy servant of the one imprisoned? 10. What was the nationality of 
the wife of the one imprisoned? 

II. Who wrote a letter to the Ministry complaining about the 
crimes of murder committed by the nobles? 12. Who made a cross 
of blood in the air and denounced the nobles? 13. Who took his 
sister away to a place where she would never be a victim of certain 
nobles? 14. Whom did the nobles harness up like a horse to work 
in the fields? 15. What became of the husband of the sick girl? 
Of her father? Of her brother? 16. What taxes in general did the 
poor people of France pay at this time? 17. What taxes in general 
did the rich people pay? 18. Who refused gold offered by the rich 
nobles and why? 19. Of what historical event does this chapter 
show the cause? 


Exercises, Chapter I 

1. In your notebook have a picture of the Bastille, showing the 
eight great towers and placing below it a few lines telling its origin. 

2. Represent this entire scene in a dramatic form, with members 
of the class taking parts. Five scenes can be made from Chapter I. 

Questions, Chapters II, III, and IV 

1. How long did the imprisonment last? 2. Who was born while 
the father was in prison? 3. Where was this child taken when about 
three years of age? 4. Who took the child to that place? 5. How 
old was the child when the father was released from prison? 6. By 
what name did her father call himself, when released? 7. What 
business house in Paris wished to have her father identified? 8. Who 

368 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


369 


was sent to identify him? 9. From what business house did this 
person come? 10. Where was this particular business house located? 

11. How far is it from London to Dover? At the present time how 
long does it take to make that journey? How long did it take in 1775? 
Why? 12. How many passengers were in the particular stage de¬ 
scribed in this chapter? 13. Where was the bank clerk going? Why? 
14. What message was sent to the bank clerk? 15. A Tale of Two 

Cities is the story of - 16. The two cities are - 17. The 

most important character in A Tale of Two Cities is - 18. A 

very famous prison in Paris was- 19. In 1775 Doctor Manette 

was released from the- 20. Doctor Manette had been put into 

the Bastille in the year —- 

21. - took Doctor Manette from the prison, when he was 

released, and cared for him. What did Doctor Manette say that his 

name was? 22. Doctor Manette was a prisoner for nearly-years. 

23. Doctor Manette was put into prison by- 24. Doctor Manette 

was born in the town of- 25. Was Doctor Manette’s wife Eng¬ 

lish or French? 26. What famous bank had a branch both in London 
and Paris? 27. A mental and physical wreck was the condition 

of - 28. Lucie Manette had been brought up to believe - 

29. The bank clerk had taken-over to England when about- 

years old, to live among her-people. 

30. Lucie Manette had - hair, - eyes, - figure, and 

-- face. 31. When Lucie Manette first saw her father, he was 

making- 32. When the stagecoach reached Dover, how many 

passengers were there? 33. When Mr. Lorry went to Dover he 

was about-years of age. 34. At Dover Mr. Lorry told Lucie 

that her father was - 35. At Dover Mr. Lorry met for the first 

time - 36. When Tellson’s Bank sent a message to Mr. Lorry in 

the stage coach, he sent back these words 37. Tellson s Bank 

was-years old. 38. Gaspard dipped his finger in red wine and 

wrote on the wall the word - 39. Defarge erased with mud the 

word that Gaspard wrote on the wall and suggested that he write all 
such words- 

40. Defarge greeted the child of his old master by- 41. When 

Lucie Manette found her father in the garret over the wine shop, 

he wore about his neck- 42. When Doctor Manette was about 

to leave the wine shop and get into the stagecoach with Lucie and 

Mr. Lorry, Madame Defarge did him the favor of- 43. Describe 

Ernest Defarge, giving his age and general appearance. 44. Describe 
Madame Defarge, giving her age and general appearance. 45. De¬ 
scribe the condition of the people in Paris in 1775. 

Exercises, Chapters II, III, IV 

1. What was the other business of Jerry besides working for 
Tellson’s Bank? 2. Why do doctors sometimes want dead bodies? 
3 Is this necessary for the advancement of the medical science? 





























370 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

4. How have they learned about the human body? 5. How do they 
get more advanced knowledge at the present time? 6. Do you 
think that it would be right for all bodies to be examined after death 
to determine the nature of the disease and how to treat such diseases 
in future? 7. Was it the best plan to keep Lucie Manette ignorant 
of the fate of her father, or would it have been better to have her 
grow up knowing the truth? 8. When is it wise and when is it not 
wise (if ever) to tell the children all about their relatives and ances¬ 
tors? 9. In your notebooks have a picture of the little town of 
Dover and of an old-fashioned stagecoach. 10. Study dramatization 
of scenes at the end of the book. 

BOOK II 

Questions, Chapters I, II, III 

I. What complaint against his wife did Jerry Cruncher make? 
Did he believe in prayer? Why did he object to his wife's actions? 

2. In what way did Dickens criticize Tellson’s Bank in London? 

3. Describe the Old Bailey. For what is it noted? 4. What remark 

does Dickens make about “disowning their children, in his com¬ 
parison of the bank with England? Does this remark sound more 
like a radical or a conservative? 5. What is the meaning of the 
criticism that the Old Bailey stood for the old idea that Whatever 
is, is right”? How does Dickens answer that? Does this show con¬ 
servative characteristics in him? 6. In 1780 Charles Darnay was 
accused of helping what country at war with England? 7. Why was 
Charles Darnay accused of treason? 8. How long did the trial of 
Darnay last in the Old Bailey? 9. What occupation did Jerry 
Cruncher have at the trial of Darnay at the Old Bailey? 10. The 
four witnesses who gave injurious testimony at Darnay s trial 
were-? 

II. What testimony at this trial was given by Lucie Manette? 
12. Describe the reference to George Washington at this trial. Did 
it prove true? At that time how did many Englishmen regard 
Washington? Why? Were they justified in their opinions? 13. After 
the trial what favor did Carton do for Darnay? 14. What message 
did Mr. Lorry send to the bank after Charles Darnay’s trial at the 
Old Bailey? 15. How does Dickens describe the liquor question of 
the eighteenth century? 16. In what year did this trial take place? 
17. What did Charles Darnay say to Lucie in 1775 concerning the 
part England had in the war with America? 18. Were trials in the 
Old Bailey open to the public? Explain. 19. What message did Car¬ 
ton deliver to Darnay about Lucie? 20. What message did Carton 
deliver from Darnay to Lucie? 

21. Why was Doctor Manette affected when looking at Darnay 
after the trial in the Old Bailey? 22. What remarks of Carton made 
Mr. Lorry a little angry? Which was right? Is it so necessary as 



QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 371 

Carto^MiT 0 ^ *° .h® ® areful of appearances? What did Mr. 
y }° n tblnk a J out such things in connection with himself? Would 
he have been better situated if he had had more of the care for 

in EnXnTr a ;r C T e? f ■ ^ ere had Carton ^died law besides 
Engiand. 24. To what did Stryver refer when he said, “That 

A “ ? ^ are P° ln t- Sydney, that you brought to bear upon the identi- 

o* W?‘ ^ OW dld - y °. U C ° me by it? When did ^ s tnke you?” 
25. Who helped Lucie Manette to take care of her father when they 
were crossing the English Channel in 1775? 26. What four people 

went from Pans to London in 1775? 27. In what prison was Charles 

arnay tried in 1780? 28. What was meant by blood money? Do 
ymi know any circumstances, past or present, that illustrate this? 
y. a f. Ea f and Justified m maintaining the system which Dickens 
criticized Have any countries such a system at present? 29. What 

?n ww J ° hn B j^ d take in the trial of Charles Darnay in 1780? 
1780? P dld R ° ger Cly take in the trial ° f Charles Darnay in 

31 . Did Dickens criticize the government of his own country un¬ 
favorably? Was he justified in doing this? What kind of feeling 
have the English people towards Dickens? 32. Why was Sydney 
Carton called a jackal and Mr. Stryver a lion? 33. How did Sydney 
Carton describe himself to Darnay? 34. What three qualities did 
ydney Carton lack? 35. Explain the reference to a mirage in 
Chapter III. Who was the cause? What, exactly, was this mirage; 
of what was it composed, in the sudden desires of Carton? Was it 
necessary for Carton to be so forlorn and dejected? Name five things 
he could have done to make himself successful. 36. How did Mr 
Lorry go from the Old Bailey to Tellson’s Bank after the trial? 
37. Name some advantages and some disadvantages in having the 
lawyers and judge in a court room wear robes. 38. How did Sydney 
Carton’s message to Mr. Stryver in court affect the verdict? 39. How 
old was Doctor Manette when he was let out of prison? 40. Try to 
get some pictures of London; Temple Bar; Old Bailey; Tower of 
London; Fleet Street; boats that crossed the English Channel at 
that time. Place these in a notebook, if possible, or give oral talks 
about them, explaining references in A Tale of Two Cities. 

41. Describe Doctor Manette in 1780. Describe Lucie Manette 
(give ages of both). 42. Describe Charles Darnay in 1780. What was 
his age? 43. When was the first time in his life Doctor Manette 
had ever seen Darnay? 44. In the trial what evidence against 
Darnay was produced from the stagecoach journey in 1775? 45. On 
what grounds did the jury in the Old Bailey bring in their verdict? 


Exercises, Chapters I, II, III 

1. Precis writing: Write a one-page theme in which the following 
words are used, with other words and in any order desired. (Title, 


372 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

The Trial.) Charles Darnay, treason, America, France, not guilty, 
John Barsad, Roger Cly, spy, English Government, servant, Lucie 
Manette, papers, 1775, English Channel, French gentlemen, lists, 
witnesses, jury, arsenal, information, positive, witness, resemblance, 
Carton, Stryver, Solicitor-General, verdict. 

2. Write a theme on the following topic: The Jackal Removes 
the Lion's Skin from the Donkey. Describe a dramatic scene between 
Stryver and Carton in which they appear at first in their usual 
nightly occupations. Then develop the determination of Carton to 
cease being any one’s jackal, and to use his own brain for his own 
advantage. He gets into an argument with Stryver over a certain 
case, in which an innocent man is made to pay a heavy fine, and then 
finally takes the case of this man; Stryver, of course, defending the 
rich man. In this scene Carton tells Stryver just what he will db 
in the future, having vowed to make something of himself at last. 
Show the surprise in court the next day when Stryver makes a dismal 
failure and Carton a brilliant success, and how Carton keeps rising 
in power. 


Questions, Chapter IV 

1. Describe the Manette home in London. In what district was 
it situated? Is that district still in existence? For what is it dis¬ 
tinguished? What kind of a house was the Manette house? How 
many rooms did they have? Did any one else live in the same build¬ 
ing? 2. Where did the Manettes get their income? 3. Was Lucie 
a good housekeeper or a good home maker? What is the difference 
between the two expressions? Which do you like better, if only 
one could be had? Is it possible to be one and not the other? Is 
it always possible to be both? 4. Where did Mr. Lorry spend every 
Sunday afternoon and evening? 5. On one particular Sunday after¬ 
noon why did Mr. Lorry go to visit the Manettes earlier than usual? 

6. How did Miss Pross answer his questions about Doctor Manette? 

7. Who, among Doctor Manette’s friends and relatives, knew why 
he was put into the Bastille? 8. Did Lucie think her father remem¬ 
bered the name of the persons who had put him into prison? 9. What 
conclusion was Mr. Lorry obliged to accept, regarding this whole 
matter of Doctor Manette’s imprisonment? 

10. Name all the “hundreds of people.” 11. What work did Miss 
Pross do? Describe her “practical friendship.” 12. What was the 
most conspicuous object in the courtyard of the Manette home? 
13. What was Lucie’s fancy about echoing footsteps? What charac¬ 
teristic did this corner have where they lived? 14. What story did 
Charles Darnay tell on this Sunday afternoon (1780)? 15. Why 

was Doctor Manette so affected by the story Darnay told while they 
were sitting under the plane tree? 16. Describe the weather later 
on that Sunday afternoon. Who were there to the Sunday night 
supper? What time did Mr. Lorry leave? Who was his bodyguard? 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


373 


Why? 17. What remark did Mr. Lorry make about the weather as 
he was on his way home from the Manettes? How did his body¬ 
guard answer him? 


Questions, Chapter V 

I. What was the attitude of the nobles towards the poor? 2. Tell 
something of the luxurious living of Monseigneur. 3. What relative 
of one of the characters in this book attended the reception? 4. De¬ 
scribe the last man leaving the reception of Monseigneur. What 
was his feeling towards this high lord of the court? Why? 5. What 
death occurred at the Paris fountain in the suburb of St. Antoine? 

6. In what section of Paris was the wine shop of Defarge situated? 

7. Who expressed the desire to crush the people under the wheels 
of his carriage? Why? 8. Who called Defarge a philosopher? Why? 
9. Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill the Marquis St. 

Evremonde passed - 10. At the fountain in the little village 

the Marquis obtained the information that- 

II. Who was Gabelle, and what was his duty? 12. Describe the 
petition made to the Marquis St. Evremonde on his way from the 
little village. 13. What can you say about the farming of this 
district through which the Marquis passed on his way home? What 
kinds of crops were raised? What should have been raised? Would 
this have been possible? 14. Describe the Marquis’s traveling outfit 
as he journeyed from Paris to his country home. 


Exercises, Chapter V 

Draw a chart, diagram, or picture of the little village and the sur^ 
rounding country, showing the important landmarks, buildings, the 
carriage of the Marquis, etc. There should be at least fourteen dif¬ 
ferent objects in this drawing. Label each in some way. 

Write a one-page theme entitled: The Marquis St. Evremonde 
Comes from Paris. 


Questions, Chapter VI 

1. What was the meaning of Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques 
Three, etc.? 2. Describe the home of the Marquis St. Evremonde 
(outside only). 3. What is the reference to the Gorgon’s Head in 
the description of the chateau? 4. Describe the interior home of the 
Marquis St. Evremonde, especially his own apartment. 5. Why did 
the Marquis St. Evremonde cause the window to be thrown open as 
he was eating his supper? 6. Why did Charles Darnay visit his uncle 
in France? 7. What assistance did the Marquis St. Evremonde give 
to his nephew? 8. What assistance did the Marquis St. Evremonde 




374 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

refuse to give to his nephew? 9. In what way did Charles Darnay 
mention a lettre de cachet to his uncle? 

10. Of what did Charles Darnay accuse his uncle in connection 
with his trial for treason in England? 11. In what way did the 
Marquis talk about Charles Darnay and a lettre de cachet? 12. W"hy 
was the Marquis St. Evremonde displeased with his nephew? 
13. How could Charles Darnay have pleased his uncle? 14. What 
did the Marquis St. Evremonde say to Darnay about the Manettes? 
15. What happened to the Marquis, the night he returned home 
from Paris? 16. Why were some of the people at the village armed 
the day after Darnay visited his uncle in France? 17. In talking 
at the fountain why did the road mender smite his breast with his 
blue cap? 


Questions, Chapter YII 

1. In what way did Charles Darnay earn a living in England? 

2. What was his feeling towards Lucie Manette? Had he told her 
about this? 3. Why did he go to see Doctor Manette when he knew 
Lucie was not at home? 4. What promise did Charles ask Doctor 
Manette to make? 5. What did Doctor Manette refuse to hear, 
which Charles wished to tell him? 6. What promise did Doctor 
Manette ask Charles Darnay to make? 7. At the end of the chapter 
called “ Two Promises,” in what condition did Lucie Manette find her 
father when she returned home? Explain the cause of this. 8. How 
long a time had elapsed between the events in the chapter called 
‘‘Two Promises,” and the one called ‘‘The Gorgon’s Head”? 9. In 
what places did Charles Darnay’s business take him? What would 
be the name of his occupation at the present time? 10. What did 
Charles Darnay say to Doctor Manette about Lucie’s love for her 
father and the attitude Darnay would always have towards this? 

Questions, Chapter YIII 

1. What information did Stryver give Carton about his future 
intention of changing his way of living? What lady was mentioned 
in this plan? 2. Why did Stryver expect Carton to be surprised? 

3. Why did Stryver expect Carton to disapprove? 4. How did 
Stryver compare himself with Carton in respect to fine feelings? 
In what manner did he explain his meaning? 5. What advice did 
Stryver give Sydney Carton about his manner of living in the future, 
about marrying? Why did he do this? 6. Compare Darnay and 
Stryver in the way each talked on the same subject on the same 
night. Which character appears the better? Why? Which charac¬ 
ter had the most self-esteem? How much of this quality should 
every one possess? Explain. When is there danger of having too 
much of that quality? 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


375 


PROJECT, CHAPTER VIII 

Chapter VIII can be dramatized very easily. It should first be 
read in class several times. Then the different students may write 
their own parts and memorize them. The reading in class should 
generally be done by students taking different parts. Others can 
read the descriptions, or these can be indicated in some other way 
by those who take the parts of the characters. 

Questions, Chapter IX 

1. Why did Mr. Stryver invite Lucie Manette to Vauxhall Gar¬ 
dens? Did she accept the invitation? 2. Why did Mr. Stryver call 
at Tellson’s Bank to see Mr. Lorry? 3. What advice did Mr. Lorry 
give Mr. Stryver in Tellson’s Bank? 4. In what way did Mr. Lorry 
accommodate Mr. Stryver by calling at the Manette home? 5. How 
did Mr. Stryver receive the report of Mr. Lorry when he called upon 
Mr. Stryver one evening, after making a visit of observation at the 
Manette home to accommodate Mr. Stryver? 6. Did Charles 
Darnay ask Doctor Manette to speak a good word for him? 7. To 
what did these words refer “Drive him fast to his tomb”? 8. How 
old was Doctor Manette at the trial in England? 9. What was 
Darnay’s name in France, and what would have been his occupation 
in that country (in 1782)? 10. Why was there great excitement at 

the chateau on the morning after Darnay’s arrival? 11. How did 
Stryver criticize the conduct of Carton at the Manette home? 12. Did 
Stryver ask Lucie Manette to marry him? 13. Since Stryver was 
rich, prosperous in business, advancing constantly, do you think 
a girl would do well to marry him? Explain. # 

Questions, Chapter X 

1. After Mr. Lorry called at the Manette home and then went to 
see Mr. Stryver, what did Mr. Stryver say to Sydney Carton about 
his plan of marrying? 2. Name the four most important things that 
Sydney Carton said to Lucie when he called especially to see her. 
3. Did Sydney Carton ask Lucie Manette to marry him? 4. What 
secret did Lucie promise Sydney Carton that she would keep? Was 
it right for her to promise this? Do you think that if she should 
marry Charles Darnay, she ought to keep this secret from him? 
Is it right to keep secrets forever from loved ones? Explain. 5. Was 
it necessary for Sydney Carton to be so dejected about himself and 
his place in the world? Was there any reason why he could not have 
been in a good position in the world, with fine friends, in happy sur¬ 
roundings? What was the greatest reason for his dilapidated condi¬ 
tion? Was it something that he was not able to overcome if he had 
had the mind to do it? 6. What was the last request Carton made 
of Lucie? 


376 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


Questions, Chapter XI 

I. Why was Jerry Cruncher interested in funerals? 2. Describe 

the funeral of Roger Cly. What became of the single mourner? 
3. What did the crowd say about Roger Cly? Where had Jerry 
seen him before? 4. On the day of Roger Cly’s funeral Jerry Crun¬ 
cher paid a visit to a celebrated-for the purpose of-5. De¬ 

scribe the “fishing tackle” that Jerry Cruncher used. 6. Describe 
the actions of young Jerry when his father went fishing. 7. When was 
young Jerry most affected while watching his father fish? 8. Why 
was Jerry Cruncher especially angry at his wife on the morning after 
the fishing party? 9. On the morning after the famous “fishing” 
party which his son had partly witnessed, what question did young 
Jerry ask his father as they walked to work? 10. What advice did 
Jerry Cruncher give his son when he expressed the ambition to follow 
the secret trade of his father? 

II, Why was young Jerry so frightened when he saw his father and 
the other men hoist a coffin up, and prepare to open it? 12. From 
what does the fear of the dead come, for surely nothing can be more 
harmless? 13. Why are some people afraid to go through cemeteries 
at night? 14. Is there reason in this fear? Do people at the present 
time believe in “spirits”? 15. Do they believe in ghosts? 16. Bring 
to class some kind of a ghost story or some story in which there are 
great fears of the dead, cemeteries, superstitions, etc. 17. Ambrose 
Bierce wrote a little book called Soldiers and Civilians which is hor¬ 
ribly “ghostly.” It is worth reading, however, for the good descrip¬ 
tions of feelings under such conditions. 


Questions, Chapter XII 

1. For whom were the people in the wine shop of Defarge waiting? 
How long had they been waiting? What was going on in the wine 
shop meantime? 2. Where did the road mender live? What infor¬ 
mation did he give the Marquis St. Evr6monde? Where were they 
at that time? 3. What was the fate of Gaspard? Why did Defarge 
bring the road mender to Paris to the St. Antoine section, to the 
wine shop? 4. How long was Gaspard hidden? Where, probably? 

5. Where was Gaspard captured? Where was his trial held? Why? 

6. What was Madame Defarge knitting? 7. What petition did 
Defarge present to Louis XVI? How was he answered? 8. What 
reference was in the words, “Bring him fast to his tomb”? 9. How 
high was the gallows on which the murderer of the Marquis St. 
Evremonde was hanged? What was placed on top of this? Why? 
What did the road mender mean by ‘ ‘ poisoning the water ” ? 10. Why 
did Defarge have the road mender tell his story upstairs in the garret 
and not in the wine shop? 



377 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

19 1 w!: n *'! h - at ^ r i S0 . n had Gas P ard been kept before his execution? 
12. What trip did the Defarges make on the Sunday after the road 

™ «*.?““?? ^? e * W T Sh ° P? H ° W far away from the wine sh °P 

r lghtS Were seen when the road mender went to 
ersailies with the Defarges? 14. How was the road mender affected 
by the gorgeous sights of court life? 15. How long did it take Defarge 
to go to meet the road mender? How long was Defarge gone from 

S™- Jr?™ long was the road mender gone from his little village? 
Where did he go after leaving Versailles? 16. After listening to the 
story of the road mender, what did Jacques One, Jacques Two, 
Jacques Three, and Jacques Four vote to do? What did Defarge 
mean by “ The chateau and all the race. Extermination? ” In what 
way would that affect one of the characters of the story? 17. What 
feelings did the road mender have towards Madame Defarge? 
18. How did Defarge discover that a spy was to be stationed in St. 
Antome? 19. Describe this spy as Defarge described him to his 
wife. (Age, nationality, etc.) 20. With what signal did the De- 
iarges keep the Jacquerie away while a spy was present? What 
number Jacques was Defarge? 

21. What name did Madame Defarge register while the spy was 
in the wine shop? 22. Why did the spy talk about Gaspard’s execu¬ 
tion while m the wine shop? 23. How had the road mender shown 
his feelings towards death, executions, bloodshed, and suffering of 
all kinds? 24. How did the spy try to get any information from 
Defarge about the secret clubs? How did Defarge answer him? 
25. What did the spy say about the Manettes in England? What 
did he say about the “present Marquis St. Evremonde”? 26. How 
was Defarge affected by the news John Barsad told in the wine shop 
about Lucie Manette? In what manner were his feelings shown? 

27. What hope did Defarge express concerning the husband of Lucie 
Manette, after learning that she was going to marry Charles Darnay? 

28. What name did Madame Defarge register near the one of John 
Barsad? 29. Why did Defarge call his wife “a grand woman, a 
frightfully grand woman”? 


EXERCISES AND PROJECTS, CHAPTER XII 

1. Madame Defarge said to the road mender: “As to you, you would 
shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. 
Say! Would you not?” and he answered, “Truly, madame, I 
think so. For the moment.” Are the majority of people like that? 
Are most people affected more through their senses than their reason? 

2. Write a one-page theme entitled A Show and a Noise. Indicate 
in some way in this theme the difference between weak characters 
and strong characters, and explain the necessity of not being influ¬ 
enced by a show and a noise. Are some people greatly affected by 
the noise of ridicule, when directed against them? Do they weakly 


378 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

give up some undertaking on account of this? Are others urged on 
by a show and noise to do what they know is not right? 


Questions, Chapters XIII, XIV, XV 

I. Describe the “one night” before Lucie’s marriage. What was 
the conversation between her and her father? Was Charles Darnay 
present? Why? 2. Was Lucie Manette an ideal daughter? Was 
her father an ideal father? Can you think of any quality these people 
lacked which make them seem less than ideal today? 3. In what 
building were Lucie Manette and Charles Darnay married? 4. What 
wedding presents to Lucie were given by Mr. Lorry? 5. Who were 
at the wedding of Lucie Manette? 6. Why was Doctor Manette 
talking with Charles Darnay alone on the morning of the marriage? 
7. Why was Doctor Manette so much affected on the day of the 
wedding? 8. How did Mr. Lorry plan to spend the day of Lucie’s 
wedding? 9. How did Mr. Lorry spend the day after the morning 
of Lucie’s marriage? 10. What occupation did Mr. Lorry follow 
during the nine days after the wedding? 

II. Where did Lucie go on her wedding journey? How long was 
she to be gone? 12. What opinion did Mr. Lorry ask of Doctor 
Manette, ten days after Lucie’s wedding? (Answer in three parts, 
concerning study, work, cause, future, tools, outfit.) 13. What was 
Doctor Manette’s answer to Mr. Lorry when he asked him his opin¬ 
ion concerning cause, future, and outfit? 14. What promise had been 
fulfilled the morning of Lucie’s marriage? 15. On the fourteenth 

day after Lucie’s marriage Doctor Manette went to- 16. On the 

night of the fourteenth day after Lucie’s marriage what work was 
done in the kitchen and garden of the Manette home by Mr. Lorry 
and Miss Pross? 17. When Lucie and Charles Darnay returned from 
the wedding trip, who returned with them? 18. What plea did 
Sydney Carton make of Charles Darnay? 19. What plea did Lucie 
make of Charles Darnay concerning Sydney Carton? Did Lucie 
tell Darnay what Carton had told her about his feeling for her? 
Why? 20. Did Charles Darnay think any less of his wife, because 
she did not tell him Carton’s secret? Is there a difference between 
your own secrets and those of others, as illustrated in this case of 
Carton and Lucie? 


Questions, Chapters XVI, XVII, XVIII 

1. What was “ the golden thread” ? 2. Explain Mr. Stryver and his 
“three lumps of bread and cheese.” 3. What did Mr. Stryver say 
about himself and Lucie Manette? 4. Describe Lucie’s two children. 
5. Describe Lucie’s married life until 1789, telling the condition of her¬ 
self, her father, her husband, Miss Pross and Mr. Lorry. 6. Describe 
the relation which Carton held towards the Manette family. 7. On 



QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


379 


July 14, 1789, why did Mr. Lorry complain of being overworked in 
Tellson’s Bank in London? What were the conditions in Paris at 
this time? 8. Describe the fall of the Bastille. 9. What part did 
Madame Defarge have in the storming of the Bastille and in later 
events of the day? 10. How many prisoners were there? How many 
guards? 

11. Why did Defarge want to go into cell “one hundred five, 
North Tower”? What did he find there? 12. Describe the proces¬ 
sion through the streets of Paris on the night of July 14, 1789. What 
did the mobs carry? 13. Who was The Vengeance? What was her 
duty? 14. Who was Foulon? What became of him? Where was 
his trial held? Of what was he accused? 15. What was the date of 
Foulon’s execution, or murder? 16. On the day of Foulon’s death 
what other well-known person was killed? 17. On the day of Foulon’s 
death what were the three spoils of the day that the crowd carried 
in a procession through the streets of Paris? 18. In what manner did 
the son-in-law of Foulon enter Paris? 19. Write a one-page theme 
on the subject Foulon. 20. What was the change on the village of 
the fountain? 

21. Describe the country around this village during the Revolution. 
22. Why did a member of the Jacobin Club come to the village one 
day during the Revolution and ask certain directions of the road 
mender? 23. Describe the interview of the road mender with the 
man. 24. Describe the experience of Gabelle on the night when the 
chateau was burned. Where did he spend the night? Why? 25. On 
the night of the fire who rang the alarm bell first? Who were the 
last to ring the bell? Why? 26. Who went from the village to put 
out the fire? Why? 27. Who was the owner of the chateau? Where 
was he? 28. How were some other revolutionists, engaged in 
burning houses, treated? 29. Who was the employer of Gabelle? 
How many taxes and how much rent had he collected for several 
years, according to the wishes of his employer? 30. How many took 
part in setting fire to the chateau near the village? 


Exercises, Chapters XVI, XVII, XVIII 

1. Bring to class pictures of French chateaux. 2. Chdteau and 
castle mean the same thing in French. Is there a difference in our 
English usage? 3. Draw a chart, diagram, or picture of the St. 
Evr6monde chateau. 4. What was the object of burning so many 
chateaux in France? 5. Would it have been wiser to have preserved 
these buildings with their furnishings for use? 


Questions; Chapter XIX 

1. What is a loadstone? What, in this chapter, would you call 
the loadstone? 2. In 1792 what was the condition of the nobles 


380 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

in France? Where had many nobles of France gone? Why? In 
1792 who were some of the leaders of the French government? 
3. Why was Mr. Lorry going to France in 1792? How old was he 
at this time? Was he asked to go to Paris? Why was he asked in¬ 
stead of another man? 4. Why did Charles Darnay advise Mr. 
Lorry not to go? 5. Why did Charles Darnay sometimes wish 
that he were in France? 6. In London in 1792, where were the head¬ 
quarters of many French nobles? 7. Who, in London, besides Doctor 
Manette, knew Charles Darnay’s real name? 8. On June 21, 1792, 
where was Gabelle? From what place had he been taken? 9. How 
was the journey of Gabelle made in 1792? Who made the same 
journey, in the opposite direction, but under the same conditions, 
about nine years before? 10. What request did Gabelle make of 
Charles Darnay in 1792? Why? 

11. When did Charles Darnay tell Lucie he was going to Paris? 
Why? How? 12. Who went to France with Mr. Lorry? Why? 
What nationality were both? 13. What remarks did certain nobles 
in Tellson’s Bank make concerning the Marquis St. Evremonde? 
14. What remarks did Stryver make in Tellson’s Bank about Charles 
Darnay as a noble of France, helping the poor people and staying 
among them later? 15. Who went with Darnay to France? How 
did he journey from London to Dover? 16. Do you think it right 
for Charles Darnay to take this journey without consulting his wife 
and perhaps her father? Why did he not consult them? Did he 
think they would object? When did he expect to tell Mr. Lorry? 

17. If you had been in Darnay’s place, would you have gone to Paris 
to help Gabelle at that particular time? What would you have done? 

18. What message did Charles Darnay give to Mr. Lorry to deliver 
in France? 19. Get a picture of the prison of the Abbaye for your 
notebook, and write a description of this prison. 20. What is meant 
by “that glorious vision of doing good,’’ which is so often the mirage 
of good minds? In what connection are these words used? Why? 


BOOK III 

Questions, Chapter I 

1. What was the storm mentioned? When had it begun? What 
was the cause? Who started it? 2. In 1792, when Charles Darnay 
reached Calais, did he travel by stage, carriage, horseback, train? 
3. How far is Calais from Paris? Mention some of the handicaps 
on the journey of Charles Darnay between these two places in 1792. 
Describe his escort. 4. Why was it necessary that Charles Darnay 
should have an escort on the way to Paris in 1792? 5. At the town 
of Beauvais what did the people call Darnay? What did some of 
them attempt to do? How was he protected at this time? 6. At 
Beauvais what two new laws in France did Charles Darnay hear of? 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


381 


7. Who had charge of that gate of Paris at which Darnay finally 
arrived? 8. What two articles were worn by everybody whom 
Darnay saw? 9. What became of Darnay’s escort? What did 
Defarge give to them? 10. Who directed the guard to open the gate 
and let Darnay enter Paris? 

11. What did Darnay notice about the procedure of allowing 
people to enter and leave Paris in 1792? 12. What was the first 

place to which Defarge took Charles Darnay? What was done at 
this place? 13. What was the second place to which Defarge took 
Charles Darnay after he entered the Paris district? Who went with 
them? 14. As Defarge and Darnay walked along the street what 
two questions did Defarge ask Charles Darnay? What question did 
Darnay ask Defarge? How was this answered? 15. What request 
concerning Mr. Lorry was made, and how was it answered? 16. What 
information did Darnay get about the condition of France? (Name 
two important items.) 17. In what manner did the man at the wicket 
gate at La Force prison receive Darnay? Why? 18. What was 
meant by in secret when Darnay was put into La Force? What 
did the man at the wicket gate of La Force give Defarge? 19. Tell 
the history of the guillotine. 20. Describe the inside of La Force 
prison. 21. Describe the crowd of prisoners Charles Darnay met in 
the prison of La Force. 22. In what way did Charles Darnay get his 
food? 


Exercises, Chapter I 

1. Bring to class pictures of Calais, Beauvais, and pictures of 
other French towns. 2. Draw a diagram of the guillotine, with a 
few lines telling its history and where it is used at the present time. 
3. Draw the wall of Paris in 1792, with the various gates. 4. Give 
the history of this wall. What can you say of its present existence? 

5. Get a picture of the streets of Saint Antoine. What kinds of 
people lived in this district? Does this condition exist at the present 
time? Do you know any one who has ever been in Paris? in the 
Saint Antoine section? If so, try to get some “first-hand” informa¬ 
tion about these places. 

Questions, Chapter II 

1. What became of that French nobleman who had to have four 
men to serve a cup of chocolate? 2. What kind of a government 
was established in France in 1792? 3. Where did Mr. Lorry live while 
in Paris? 4. Describe what Mr. Lorry saw from his window on the 
first night of the September Massacre. How were prisoners killed? 
Where? 5. When Doctor Manette and Lucie knew that Charles 
Darnay had gone to France, Doctor Manette told Lucie that- 

6. Compare the journey of Lucie and her father from Calais to 
Paris with that of Charles Darnay over the same route. 7. In 



382 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

1792, at the barrier of Paris, Doctor Manette obtained the news 

that- 8. In 1792, Lucie’s little girl was-years old. 9. What 

did Mr. Lorry tell Doctor Manette concerning Darnay’s position 
in La Force prison? 10. Where did the four stay on the night of 
their arrival in Paris? 11. Write a one-page theme on the arrival 
of Doctor Manette, Lucie, her little girl, and Miss Pross, and the 
way the crowd treated Doctor Manette. 12. Get the names and 
pictures, if possible, of the leaders in the September Massacre. Get 
a picture of La Force prison for your notebook. 

Questions, Chapter III 

1. What three people from Saint Antoine came to see Lucie on 
the second night of her arrival in Paris? 2. Who asked, “Is that his 
child?” 3. What message did Doctor Manette send to Lucie from 
La Force? 4. Why did not the Manettes stay at the bank with Mr. 
Lorry while in Paris? 5. Where did the Manettes live while in Paris? 
At first Mr. Lorry had thought of consulting the Defarges about a place 
for them; why did he change his mind? 6. Since Charles Darnay 
had been imprisoned in secret, how did it happen that all these people 
knew about him? Who was responsible for breaking that law? 
7. Why did Madame Defarge come to see Lucie the day after Lucie’s 
arrival? What woman came with Madame Defarge? 8. What did 
Madame Defarge say her business was there, when she went to see 
Lucie? 9. What request did Lucie make of Madame Defarge? 
What did Madame Defarge answer? 10. Lucie said a shadow was 

cast on all her hopes by - What reason had Lucie to feel in 

this way? 11. What did Mr. Lorry say about the substance of the 
shadow that Lucie said was cast on her and all her hopes? What 
did Mr. Lorry really think about the shadow? 12. In what occupa¬ 
tion was Madame Defarge engaged when she called on Lucie? 

Exercises, Chapter III 

1. This chapter makes a little one-act play with two scenes; one 
at the bank when Ernest Defarge calls upon Mr. Lorry when they 
go down to the courtyard to meet Madame Defarge and The Ven¬ 
geance; the other at the Manette lodgings. It can be arranged 
easily by the students themselves. It will be enjoyable to read in 
class with the students taking parts. 

2. Write a one-page theme on the subject The Shadow in which 
the most important ideas of this chapter will be expressed. 

Questions, Chapter IV 

1. How long did the September Massacre last? How many people 
were killed? 2. When Doctor Manette was taken to La Force he 
was presented to-He was identified by-; he had access 







QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


383 


to-and learned that- Then he- that he succeeded in 

having - but - so finally - four days - 3. When 

Lucie Manette came to Paris with her father in 1792, he was-- 

years old. 4. In 1792 the King and Queen of France were - 

5. At the beginning of the French Revolution in 1789, the president 

of the United States was- 6. The famous American who visited 

France to get help in the American Revolution was - 7. In 

1792 Doctor Manette was-years old. 8. The first time Charles 

Darnay saw Defarge was in the year - 9. The first time Lucie 

Manette ever saw Madame Defarge was in the year- 10. Just 

after Mr. Lorry had said “Thank God that no one near and dear 
to me is in this dreadful town tonight,” what happened? 

11. What famous Frenchman helped the Americans in the Ameri¬ 
can Revolution? 12. While in Paris Jerry Cruncher lived most of 

the time at the- 13. When the Manettes were in Paris, during 

the Revolution, the one among them who had the greatest hope 

and courage, and strengthened them all was - 14. Where did 

the Manettes get an income while living in Paris? 15. How long 
was Charles Darnay in La Force Prison? 16. What were the accusa¬ 
tions and sentences against Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI? 
17. What was the National Razor of France? 18. What was the 
name of the public executioner in Paris? 19. Describe the feelings 
of the people towards the guillotine in 1792-1793. 20. Name thej 

places and describe the means by which thousands of people were 
killed in other ways besides that of the guillotine. 21. Why did the 
black flag float from Notre Dame? 22. When was a republican 
government formed in France? 

Exercises, Chapter IV 

1. Write a one-page theme on Calm in Storm, showing Doctor 
Manette’s character in those terrible times. Explain some of the 
conditions of the times. 

2. The feeling that one is useless is one of the worst, if not the worst, 
to experience. Doctor Manette had often been depressed, because 
so much of his life had seemed useless. Now that particular part of 
his life was giving him great power; more strength and influence 
than those possessed who had not lost so many years. This thought 
made him lose all his depression and assume his true character of 
strength, wisdom, courage, vigor, cheering and sustaining everybody. 
Write a one-page theme on the Dangers of Uselessness. 

Questions, Chapter V 

1. What were the tumbrils? How were they made? For what 
had they been used before the Revolution? 2. Describe Lucie’s 
home in Paris in 1792-1793. Was she a good home maker, or a 
good housekeeper, or both? 3. How was little Lucie’s education 

















384 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

managed? 4. Had little Lucie been taught French in England or 
in France? 5. Where did Lucie spend the time every afternoon 
between two and four o’clock? 6. Who was the wood-sawyer, and 
where did he live in 1792-1793? 7. Where did the wood-sawyer 

live in 1789? 8. What number Jacques was the wood-sawyer^ 

9. What mode of address had been decreed by the law of France. 

10. Did the wood-sawyer suspect why Lucie stood near his home 
so often ? 11. What reason have you for your answer? Did he show any 
signs of making trouble? 12. How did Lucie try to pacify the wood- 
sawyer? 13. What did the wood-sawyer call his saw? What did 
he call himself? 14. Describe the Carmagnole. What was the cos¬ 
tume? 15. In what way was Lucie affected by the Carmagnole? 
16. What important information did Doctor Manette give Lucie, 
just after she had seen the Carmagnole? What did he tell her about 
Charles Darnay in prison as he had just left him? What did he say 
Lucie would be safe in doing? 17. Had Doctor Manette ever brought 
any notes from the prison to Lucie? 18. Describe some of the work 
of Mr. Lorry in Paris. 19. Where did Lucie and her father go, after 
seeing the Carmagnole? 


Questions, Chapter VI 

I. What was meant by “the evening paper” at La Force? 2. How 
were the officials dressed at the trial of Darnay? 3. What became 
of all those prisoners whom Charles Darnay had seen on his first 
night in La Force? When did they leave La Force? 4. Describe 
the audience at Charles Darnay’s trial. How was the audience 
dressed? What did they say at first about his case? 5. On what 
charge was Darnay tried? 6. According to whose instructions did 
Darnay answer the questions put to him? 7. How long was Gabelle 
in prison? 8. How did Charles Darnay prove that he was not guilty? 
Name four reasons given by Darnay. 9. In the trial of the fifteen 
who were tried before Darnay and convicted, how many minutes did 
each of the fifteen average for his trial and sentence? 10. How much 
time did the five average who followed Darnay? For what were these 
five tried? What was the prison sign of death? 

II. What was the verdict of the jury in Darnay’s case? 12. How 

did the people feel towards Darnay after his trial? 13. Describe the 
processions and celebrations in the streets after the first trial of 
Darnay, and his arrival at home. 14. What can you say about the 
religion of Charles Dickens from the chapter called “Triumph”? 
Explain. 15. What kind of government had France in December, 
1793? 16. Who were some of the leading government officials in 

France, December, 1793? 17. Where was Lafayette in December, 

1793? ' 18. Where was Napoleon in December, 1793? 19. What 

was going on in the United States in December, 1793? 20. In the 
trial of Charles Darnay, what mention was made of his trial in Eng- 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 385 

land in 1780? 21. Look up ex post facto in the dictionary and then 
explain how this law applied to the trial of Darnay. 

Exercises, Chapter VI 

1. Dramatize the trial of Darnay, assigning the parts and letting 
each student write out his own part. A more elaborate entertainment 
could be given by adding to the whole trial scene the two parades, 
before and after Darnay reached his home, the dance, Carmagnole, 
and the song, Carmagnole. 

2. Write a one-page theme describing the two parades. Select 
an interest-provoking title. 

3. Write the last eighty-one words in this chapter entirely in 
indirect discourse. 


Questions, Chapter VII 

1. How did the Manettes get their supplies of food and at what 
time of day? 2. What was the ordinance of the Republic One and 
Indivisible, of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity or Death, concerning 
the names of residents? 3. What job did Doctor Manette give to 
Jerry Cruncher just after Darnay was released from prison? 4. How 
much of the French language did Miss Pross know? 5. In getting 
the supplies into the house who took charge of the money? 6. What 
is the meaning of these words, “Nice toasts these red-heads will be 
drinking, wherever we buy it’’? 7. What caution did Lucie give to 
Miss Pross several times? 8. Who said these words and what is 
their meaning: “It doesn’t need an Interpreter to explain the mean¬ 
ing of these creatures. They have but one, and it’s Midnight, 
Murder, and Mischief.” 9. Where, in the story, is a description 
similar to this? “Take care of the dear husband you have recovered, 
and don’t move your pretty head from his shoulder as you have it now, 
’till you see me again!” 

10. What song are these words from: “Confound their Politics, 
Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the 
king ” ? 11. Just after Charles Darnay had been released from prison, 
what very important question did Miss Pross ask Doctor Manette? 
12. When it seemed a question of patient and “watchful waiting” 
just after Darnay was released from prison, in what way did Miss 
Pross quote her brother? 13. Wkat is the most dramatic line in 
this chapter? 14. Who were the people who came to Lucie Manette’s 
home in Paris a short time after Darnay was released? 15. Where 
did Darnay spend the night before he was released from prison? 

Exercises, Chapter VII 

1. Write the following lines entirely in indirect discourse, using any 
new words necessary to give the indirect form but the same meaning 
as at present. 


386 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

All was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was more at ease than she 
had been. 

“What is that?” she cried, all at once. 

“My dear!” said her father, stopping in his story, and laying 
his hand on hers, “command yourself. What a disordered state 
you are in! The least thing — nothing — startles you! You, your 
father’s daughter!” 

“I thought, my father,” said Lucie, excusing herself, with a pale 
face, and in a faltering voice, “that I heard strange feet upon the 
stairs.” 

“ My love, the staircase is as still as death.” 

As he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door. 

2. “It was not another of the dreams in which he had often come 
back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a vague 
but heavy fear was upon her.” Was this an example of coming events 
casting their shadows before? Was there a very strong reason for 
Lucie’s fear? Authors call this device of hinting at future events 
“anticipatory hints.” Find similar passages. Do the motion pictures 
use them? 


Questions, Chapter VIII 

I. Whom did Miss Pross and Jerry meet in the wine shop? What 

was the name of the wine shop? Can you suggest a reason for this 
name? What Shakespearian play contains the reason? 2. What 
position did John Barsad hold under the revolutionary government? 
3. In what way were the feelings of Miss Pross hurt? 4. Who hurt 
the feelings of Miss Pross on the way home from the wine shop? 
5. What question did Jerry Cruncher ask John Barsad? 6. Who 
came from London to Paris, December, 1793? 7. Who told Jerry 

Cruncher the other name of Miss Pross’s brother? 8. Who followed 
John Barsad from the Conciergerie to the wine shop? ,9. What 
news did Sydney Carton get from the conversation between Roger 
Cly and his friend in the wine shop? 10. What request did Sydney 
Carton make of John Barsad just after leaving the wine shop? 

II. What information did Mr. Lorry receive from Sydney Carton 
about Charles Darnay on the night after the first trial of Darnay in 
Paris? 12. How long did Charles Darnay’s triumph last? 13. In 
the “game of cards” what did Sydney Carton say he expected to 
win? 14. What did Carton say about the condition of the people 
living in Paris? 15. What things favorable to Barsad’s position did 
Sydney Carton mention? 16. What was the “ ace ” which Carton said 
he would play against Barsad? 17. What evidence was Carton ready 
to present that John Barsad had once been a friend of aristocratic 
governments and an enemy of the republic? 18. What did Barsad 
know about his own condition that Carton did not know? 19. What 
special fear did John Barsad have in 1793, from certain revolution- 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 387 

ists? 20. What was the “card” in connection with Roger Cly that 
Carton said he could play against Barsad? 

21. What certificate did Barsad show to Carton in connection 
with Roger Cly? 22. What information did Jerry Cruncher give 
that gave Carton more power over John Barsad? 23. What was 
the feeling of Jerry Cruncher towards John Barsad? What words 
did Jerry use to express his feelings? Explain. 24. What confession 
did John Barsad finally make to Sydney Carton? 25. What was 
the “wonder of wonders” in connection with Jerry Cruncher that 
John Barsad could not understand? 26. Why did Sydney Carton 
use these words: “So far, we have spoken before these two, because 
it was as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely be¬ 
tween you and me. Come into the dark room here, and let us have 
one final word alone.” 27. What was the law of “Denunciation”? 
How much evidence was needed? 28. What was the law of the 
“Suspected”? How much evidence was needed? 29. What name 
was given to the government of France at this time (1793)? 30. What 
was the attitude of other countries towards France at this time 
(1793)? 31. At the time of Darnay’s trial where was Louis XVI 

(December, 1793)? Where was Marie Antoinette? Where was 
the brother of Louis XVI? 

Questions, Chapter IX 

I. Why was Mr. Lorry very angry with Jerry Cruncher about the 
work that Jerry had called “going fishing”? 2. When Mr. Lorry 
discovered what other work Jerry had been doing besides that for 
the bank, what threat against Jerry did Mr. Lorry make? 3. What 
defense did Jerry make? 4. What plea did Jerry Cruncher make 
for young Jerry? 5. What was the other line of work that Jerry 
said he would do in the future, if he ever returned to England and 
if Mr. Lorry did not inform against him and have him punished? 

6. What did Jerry Cruncher say about the possibilities of his “other” 
private business being carried on in Paris? (Would it be successful?) 

7. What reason did Jerry Cruncher give why Mr. Lorry should not 
have him prosecuted? 8. In what way was the character of Jerry 
changed by living in Paris? 9. What did Mr. Lorry say his attitude 
towards Jerry’s unlawful conduct would be in the future? 10. What 
arrangement did Carton make with John Barsad in the dark room? 

II. Was Lucie Manette to know about the arrangement Carton 
had made with Barsad in the dark room? 12. What is the meaning 
of these words, “She might think it was contrived, in case of the 
worst, to convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence”? 
13. Did Lucie Manette know that Sydney Carton was in Paris? 
Why? 14. Mention three serious questions Carton asked Mr. 
Lorry about himself on the night of Darnay’s second arrest (1793). 
15. Where did Carton go after leaving Mr. Lorry, the night of Dar¬ 
nay’s second arrest? Why did he go to this place? 16. Describe 


388 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

the change in the character of the wood-sawyer after he had lived 
in Paris a few years. Compare this with the change in Jerry Crun¬ 
cher. 17. What did the wood-sawyer call Sydney Carton? Why? 
18. What did Sydney Carton purchase on the night of Darnay’s 
second arrest in Paris (1793)? 19. Tell something of Carton’s 

boyhood; his father, mother, his abilities. 20. What quotation 
kept going through the mind of Carton, as he walked through the 
streets of Paris? What scene in his mind did this quotation present 
to his thoughts constantly? Was there a reason for this? What 
reason? 

21. What kinds of services were not said in the churches at this 
time? 22. Where did Carton spend the night on which Darnay was 
re-arrested? 23. What three names were said to have denounced 
Darnay, at his second trial? 24. What was the accusation against 
Darnay at his second trial? 25. What was the real Substance 
of the Shadowf Why? 26. Describe the feeling of the au¬ 
dience at the second trial. 27. What protest did Doctor Manette 
make? 28. What account did Defarge give? 29. What did Defarge 
say that he had found in the Bastille (1789)? 30. Why did the 

President reprove Doctor Manette? 31. How did the officials of 
the court regard Doctor Manette at the second trial of Darnay 
(1793)? 

Questions, Chapter X 

1. What words of comfort did Lucie Manette give to Charles 
Darnay after the sentence? What did she say about her future 
life? 2. What was Charles Darnay’s feeling towards Doctor Manette 
after his. second trial? 3. Whom did Darnay blame for his mis¬ 
fortune? 4. In what condition was Lucie after Darnay had been 
taken to his cell? 5. In what way was Lucie taken from the court 
to her home in Paris? Who had carried her to the coach, and after¬ 
wards from the coach to her room? 6. What words did little Lucie 
say to Sydney Carton, while in Paris? 7. What request concerning 
his farewell did Sydney Carton make before he left the home of Lucie? 
8. What did Carton encourage Doctor Manette to do after the second 
trial of Darnay? 


Questions, Chapter XII 

1. What wine shop did Carton visit on his third night in Paris? 
2. What information did Carton get there? Where did Carton go 
after visiting the wine shop? Why? 3. Who was the sister of the 
boy and girl whose deaths Doctor Manette had witnessed in 1757? 
4. What two important papers did Carton give Mr. Lorry? 5. What 
instructions did Sydney Carton give Mr. Lorry? 6. In the wine 
shop of the Defarges Sydney Carton acted the part of a person who 

did not-7. Madame Defarge told her husband that Sydney 

Carton- 8. What did Carton hear Madame Defarge say about 




QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


389 


her husband and his feeling towards the sentence of Darnay? 9. What 
plan of Madame Defarge did Carton tell Mr. Lorry? 10. What 
accusation did Madame Defarge intend to bring against Lucie? 
11. What promise did Carton ask Mr. Lorry to make him? 12. What 
very urgent request did Carton give Mr. Lorry, to give Lucie, as 
coming from Charles Darnay? 13. Why did Carton go to the De- 
farge’s wine shop? Was this a good plan? 14. What did Carton 
tell Mr. Lorry about the wood-sawyer? 

Questions, Chapter XIII 

I. How did Charles Darnay spend his time in the Conciergerie 
after his sentence of death? 2. When had Charles Darnay first 
known that his father and uncle had been responsible for the im¬ 
prisonment of Doctor Manette? 3. What great request did Darnay 
make to Lucie in the letter he wrote on the day of his condemnation? 
of Doctor Manette? of Mr. Lorry? 4. On the “day of his death,” 
about one o’clock, who entered the cell of Darnay? 5. Who said 
these words, “He has never seen me here; I have kept out of his way. 
Go you in alone”? 6. A little after one o’clock on the “day of his 
death ” what was Darnay forced into doing? 7. When Carton dictated 
to Darnay in prison, to whom was that dictation really directed? 
8. What became of the paper that Darnay wrote under Carton’s 
dictation? 9. In the dictation that Darnay wrote under Carton’s 
direction, what is meant by these lines: “If it had been otherwise, 
I never should have used the longer opportunity. If it had been 
otherwise, I should but have had so much the more to answer for.” 
10. Who took Darnay to the coach in which Mr. Lorry, Lucie, little 
Lucie, and Doctor Manette were waiting for Carton? 

II. What did Carton tell John Barsad to tell Mr. Lorry when he 
took Darnay to the coach? 12. Who placed Darnay in the coach 
with Mr. Lorry and the Manettes? 13. What were the words of 
“last night” that Carton told Barsad to tell Mr. Lorry to remember? 
14. What person in the prison besides Barsad knew that Carton was 
taking the place of Darnay? 15. How did Carton take Darnay’s 
place in strengthening any one else sentenced to death? 16. Who 
took charge of the business arrangements of the stagecoach as it 
drove through Paris and away towards the coast? Where was 
Charles Darnay at this time? Where was Sydney Carton? 17. On 
the day when Darnay was to be executed, how many were to be sent 
to the guillotine? 

Exercises, Chapter XIII 

1. When this story of two cities was on the speaking stage, the 
name of the play was The Only Way , and Sydney Carton was the 
star actor. Can you think of any other way in which Darnaj^ might 
have been saved without the death of Carton? 


390 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

2. Was it right for Carton to sacrifice his own life in this way? 
Is it one’s first duty to look after one’s own life? How did Carton 
reason about this? 

3. How would Carton’s great sacrifice be considered at the present 
time? 

4. How did Carton ask Lucie to regard this great act of his life 
for her? (See dictation in the cell.) 


Questions, Chapter XIV 

I. Who were the four people holding a secret conference at the 
wood-sawyer’s hut? 2. What secret intention did Madame Defarge 
keep from her husband? Why? 3. When did Madame Defarge 
decide to do what she intended to do? 4. Why did Jacques ask 
the question, “But our Defarge is undoubtedly a good republican? ” 

5. Why did Jacques say about Defarge, “It is not quite like a good 
citizen”? 6. What request did Madame Defarge make of The 
Vengeance on the afternoon of the expected execution of Evremonde? 
7. What did Madame Defarge plan to do at eight o’clock on the night 
of the day when Darnay was to be executed? 8. Did Miss Pross 
and Jerry know when Darnay escaped from La Force? 9. Did 
Miss Pross follow exactly the plan of the night before in the arrange¬ 
ment for leaving France? Explain. 10. What were the two prom¬ 
ises or vows that Jerry Cruncher made to Miss Pross? 

II. What time did Lucie and the others leave Paris? What time 
did Jerry Cruncher and Miss Pross leave? Why were these to leave 
later? 12. What did Miss Pross do first, when Madame Defarge 
confronted her in the apartment? 13. What request of Miss Pross 
did Madame Defarge make? 14. What action for the protection 
of Lucie and her family did Miss Pross make which Madame Defarge 
resisted? 15. In the following sentence explain the word “ truth 
“I little thought that I should ever want to understand your non¬ 
sensical language; but I would give all I have, except the clothes I 
wear, to know whether you suspect the truth, or any part of it.” 
16. Describe the final struggle between Miss Pross and Madame De¬ 
farge. How many weapons did Madame Defarge have? 17. Before 
Miss Pross left Paris what did she do with the door key? 18. What 
is the name of the cathedral, between the two great towers of which 
Miss Pross and Jerry Cruncher met? 19. Describe the conversation 
between Jerry Cruncher and Miss Pross as they rode away in the 
carriage from Paris. 20. Explain these words: “She and Jerry 
had beheld the coach start; had known who it was that Solomon 
brought; had passed some ten minutes in tortures of suspense.” 
What is the antecedent of the pronoun who? 21. What was meant 
by these words at La Force Prison: “Come out and listen to the 
evening paper, you inside there!” 


QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 


391 


Exercises, Chapter XIV 

1. Ethical means “right,” “just” — to give to each one according 
to his worth; never to punish one person for the mistakes of another; 
never to punish a person for something he could not prevent; not 
to blame any one for the sins of relatives. 

What, then, do you think the ethical purpose of Dickens was in 
writing A Tale of Two Cities? What very important character is 
involved in this idea? 

2. There are four scenes in this chapter; arrange these for dramatic 
readings: (a) The Secret Conference of Madame Defarge at the 
Wood-sawyer’s Hut. (6) Dialogue between Jerry Cruncher and Miss 
Pross. (c) Dialogue between Miss Pross and Madame Defarge. 
Death of Madame Defarge. (d) Dialogue between Jerry Cruncher 
and Miss Pross. 

3. Write a one-page theme entitled Love Stronger than Hate. 

4. Do you think that love is stronger than hate? Which causes 
the g’eater part of the action in this story? 

5. Show how Dickens could mix comedy, pathos, and tragedy in 
this chapter about the ending of Madame Defarge. In what way 
was each represented? 

Questions, Chapter XV 

1. Describe the procession of the six tumbrils with the fifty-two 
prisoners, on the way to the guillotine. Why were there greater 
crowds than usual on this particular day? Why were they most 
interested in the third cart? 2. Where was Madame Defarge? 
3. Why did Carton place the little girl with her back to the guillotine, 
when they had arrived at the fatal place? 4. What question did 
the little girl with Carton, at the guillotine, ask him about the future 
life? 5. What religious question did Carton answer for the little 
girl? 6. What was the fate of (a) Barsad? (6) Cly? (c) The Ven¬ 
geance? (d) Defarge? (e) the jurymen? (/) the judge? 7. Describe 
the future of the Manettes and their descendants as told in the last 
chapter of the book. 8. Give instances from this story where Dickens 
shows his love of justice and his desire to see always both sides of a 
story. 9. Name six Biblical allusions and explain the uses of these. 
10. What anesthetic did Carton use on Darnay? How long had this 
been discovered? 

A TEST ON THE WHOLE BOOK 

1. Lucie said a shadow was cast on all her hopes by 

2. Mr. Lorry did not have the Manettes stay at the bank in 

Paris because- 

3. The governor of the Bastille was killed by-- 





392 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

4. Just after Dr. Manette was released from the Bastille, he 

called himself by the name of- 

5. When the Manettes were in Paris during the Revolution, the 

one among them who had the greatest hope and courage and strength¬ 
ened them all was - 

6. Where did the wood-sawyer live in 1792-1793? 

7. What was the occupation of the wood-sawyer before the 
Revolution? 

8. In 1792 and 1793 Doctor Manette had the position of- 

9. The National Razor was- 

10. The Carmagnole was- When?- 

11. The costume of the Carmagnole was- 

12. How long was Darnay in La Force before his trial? 

13. About how long was Gabelle in prison?- 

14. Who came from England to France the day before Darnay’s 

trial?- 

15. The night before Darnay’s trial he stayed in- 

16. At his trial in England Darnay was accused of helping- 

17. At his first trial in Paris Darnay was accused of- 

18. At his second trial in Paris Darnay was accused of- 

19. Under what ex post facto law was Darnay arrested? 

20. At Darnay’s first trial in Paris the jury brought in a verdict 

of-because- 

21. The journey of Darnay from prison to his home in Paris was 

an occasion of great-by the- 

22. When Charles Darnay arrived home (in Paris) from his trial, 

the first words and acts of Lucie were- 

23. When Charles Darnay arrived home (in Paris) after his first 

trial, he told Lucie to-her father, because- 

24. What duty did Doctor Manette give to Jerry Cruncher 
just after Darnay was released from prison? 

25. The tumbrils were-and were used for- 

26. The sister of the murdered peasant boy and girl, who died in 

the year 1757, was-and she lived in- 

27. At Darnay’s second trial in Paris (1793) the three persons 

said to have denounced him were -, -, - 

28. The fall of the Bastille occurred in the year - month 

of-, and the-day. 

29. The paper written by Darnay, under Carton’s dictation, was 

really directed to-, and was placed- 

30. Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three, were members 

of-for the purpose of- 

31. A lettre de cachet w as- 

32. In the kitchen stove and garden of the Manette home, Mr. 

Lorry and Miss Pross ended the existence of the-- 

33. Doctor Manette was put into the Bastille in the year- 

34. In One Hundred Five, North Tower, Defarge found - 

35. The custodian of the drum was- 


































QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 393 


36. Madame Defarge was knitting a- 

37. Madame kept members of the secret club from meeting the 

spy by giving them a signal with a- 

38. When Mr. Lorry left Paris for London, during the French 

Revolution, he was-years old. 

39. When Mr. Lorry died, he was about-years old. 

40. The very first time Doctor Manette ever saw Charles Darnay 

was in the year- 

41. Charles Darnay saw Lucie Manette for the first time in the 

year- 

42. Sydney Carton saw Madame Defarge for the first time in 

the year - 

43. When the Manettes left Paris for London during the Revolu¬ 
tion, little Lucie was about-years old. 

44. The famous American who went to France to get help during 

the American Revolution was - 

45. The famous Frenchman who came over to America to help 

the Colonists against England was- 

46. The King and Queen of France during the French Revolution 


47. The complete story of A Tale of Two Cities (from the time 
Doctor Manette was imprisoned, until the family left Paris for 
London, during the French Revolution) extends over a time of 


48. - was a famous American who lived during the lifetime 

of Doctor Manette. . 

49 _ was a famous American who lived during the time oi 

Charles Dickens. 

50. Charles Dickens was a-, a --and a — 

51. The greatest work that Charles Dickens did was to 

52. On their wedding trip Charles Darnay and Lucie spent the 

second two - traveling through with — 

53. The purpose of writing A Tale of Two Cities was to 

54. Who made all the arrangements and compelled the Manettes 


to leave Paris? ., , ,, 

55. Events in which there is an accidental coming together at 
the same time, or accidentally being at the same place at the same 

time, are coincidences. . . „ ,, 

Does Charles Dickens make very much use of coincidence? Men¬ 
tion one coincidence. Is enough or too much use of coincidence made 
in this book? 


WHO SAID THESE WORDS? WHERE? 
(IN WHAT CITY) 

1. “She was a golden-haired doll.” 

2. “Say that my answer was, recalled to life." 





















394 QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 

3. “Much of that wouldn’t do for you! You’d be in a blazing 
bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion!” 

4. “I am going to see his ghost! It will be his ghost — not him.” 

5. “Now that you have come, I think you will do something 
to help mamma, something to save papa!” 

6. “Where is my bench? I have been looking everywhere for 
my bench, and I can’t find it. What have they done with my work? ” 

7. “You have my certificate in your hand .with the rest, you 
know, and will reserve my place. Wait for nothing but to have my 
place occupied, and then for England!” 

8. “I was weak and faint when you brought me in, and I am 
fainter now you take me out. The parting interview has overpowered 
me. Such a thing has happened here often, and too often. Your 
life is in your own hands. Quick!” 

9. “She has a fine head for it; I have seen blue eyes and golden 
hair there, and they looked charming when Samson held them up.” 

10. “By the cathedral door; would it be much out of the way, 
to take me in near the great cathedral door between the two towers?” 

11. “You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer. 
Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an English¬ 
woman.” 

12. “Then tell wind and fire where to stop, but don’t tell me!” 

13. “We know now what you underwent when you suspected 
my descent and when you knew it.” 

14. “Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight.” 

15. “So you put him in his coffin? — Who took him out of it?” 

16. “You must not be weak, my darling; don’t tremble so. I 
have saved him.” 

17. “See my saw! I call it my little guillotine.” 

18. “It is the daughter of your father who is my business here.” 

19. “Make yourself known to these devils, and get taken to La 
Force. It may be too late; I don’t know, but let it not be a minute 
later!” 

20. “In the name of that sharp female newly born, and called 
La Guillotine, why did you come to France?” 

21. “Where is that emigrant? I cry in my sleep, where is he? I 
demand of heaven, will he not come to deliver me? No answer.” 

22. “Halloa! here are three lumps of bread and cheese towards 
your matrimonial picnic!” 

23. “She is going to marry - the present Marquis. But he 

lives unknown in England; he is Mr. Charles Darnay. D’Aulnais 
is the name of his mother’s family. He is the nephew of Monsieur 
the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so 
many feet.” 

24. “Bring him fast to his tomb.” 

25. “Shall you bring home any fish, father?” 

26. “There is a man who would give his life to keep a life you 
love beside you! ” 



QUESTIONS AND LESSON HELPS 395 

27. “If you were not in disgrace with the court - a lettre de 

cachet would have sent me to some fortress indefinitely.” 

28. “May the devil carry away these idiots! How do you call 
the man? You know all the men of this part of the country. Who 
was he?” 

29. “I would ride over any of you very willingly and exterminate 
you from the earth! ” 

30. “If you had sent the message, recalled to life , again, I should 

have known what you meant this time.” ; 

31. “Where does my father get all that iron rust from? He don’t 
get no iron rust here! ” 

32. “Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on 
m y love.” 

33. “It is for thine own dear sake. Thou wilt be faithful, little 
Charles?” 

34. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, 
twelve, Hush! ” 


STORIES ABOUT REVOLUTIONARY TIMES 

Balzac, Honore de, The Conscript 
Beaumarchais, The Barber of Seville 
Beaumarchais, The Marriage of Figaro 
Belloc, Hilaire, The Girondin 
Besant, Walter, St. Catherine's by the Tower 
Chambers, Robert, Red Cap and Blue Jacket 
Dumas, Alexandre, La Comtesse de Charnay 
Er c kmann-Chatrian , Madame Therese 
Erckmann-Chatrian, The Story of a Peasant 
Erckmann-Chatrian, Waterloo 
Erckmann-Chatrian, Invasion of France 
Erckmann-Chatrian, The Blockade of Phalsbourg 
Erckmann-Chatrian, The Country in Danger 
Erckmann-Chatrian, Citizen Bonaparte, 1794-1815 
Hugo, Victor, Ninety-Three 

Martineau, Harriet, The Peasant and the Prince 
Mitchell, S. Weir, The Adventures of Frangois 
Orczy, Baroness, The Scarlet Pimpernel 
Oxenham, John, Queen of the Guarded Mounts 
Pemberton, Max, My Sword for Lafayette 
Roberts, Margaret, Atelier du Lys 
Sabatini, Raphael, Scaramouche 
Sabatini, Raphael, Trampling of the Lilies 
Trollope, Anthony, La Vendee 
Weyman, Stanley J., The Red Cockade 







Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
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